


To Know You and Be Known

by SailorChibi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, BAMF Benny, Blow Job, Child Neglect, Crying, DCBB, Dean Needs A Hug, Dean Winchester Has Issues, DeanCas Big Bang, DeanCas Big Bang 2014, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hugs, Human Castiel, Hunters, Hunting, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Minor Character Death, Pack Dynamics, Panic Attacks, Prostitution, Protective Benny, Protective Castiel, Protective Gabriel, Sappiness, Werewolf!Castiel, Werewolves, mention of suicide, mentioned child abuse, sort of prostitution, the Impala is home, werewolf allergy to silver, werewolf!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 08:32:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2645207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorChibi/pseuds/SailorChibi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The worst night of Dean's life was the night his little brother died and he became a monster. He's spent the last thirteen years struggling to prove to his father that he still possesses even a shred of humanity, that John's decision to spare his life that night wasn't a mistake.</p><p>He never imagined that it would take John's death for Dean to find his proof in the arms of Castiel, a werewolf just like him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Know You and Be Known

**Author's Note:**

> This was my entry for the DCBB this year. It was the first time I've ever entered and I have to say it was a blast.
> 
> Huge thanks to ashproduct, who made the incredible [artwork](http://ashproduct.livejournal.com/3064.html) that goes along with this story. It's gorgeous, seriously.
> 
> And also thank you so much to my kind beta, [smutmuffin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/smutmuffin/pseuds/smutmuffin/works) who answered my call on tumblr. She also helped me with the summary and title to this story by sending me a link to an awesome song that gave me a lot of inspiration, and they would definitely not be half as good as they are without her help.
> 
> Incidentally, the title for this story is taking from the song [Here With Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tQRYAML0j_8) by MercyMe. It's a beautiful song and goes very well with this story.

Dean woke up covered in blood. This wasn't the first time that had happened, not by far, even though Dad said he technically wasn't old enough to go on hunts yet. But it was the first time it had ever been like this. There was just _so much_ of it. Even before he opened his eyes, he could feel it coating his face, his hands, his clothing, his hair: heavy and dry and cracking, and when he unconsciously licked his lips the iron taste was so strong that he flinched. 

The hotel room was pretty dark when he did open his eyes, but not to the point where he couldn't see. The bed that he had ordered Sammy to stay on was in ruins. His own bed was nothing more than a pile of splinters. There was even more blood staining the walls and the floor, and Dean realized that he was lying right in a pool of it. He stared down at the dried ugliness on his hands and felt his throat tighten, belly clenching in a familiar matter. He only just missed his lap when he threw up all over the ground. 

He only stopped heaving when there was nothing left. Dean gagged on the sour taste, spitting out bile, and wiped a trembling hand across the back of his mouth. He remembered leaving the hotel room. He wasn't supposed to, but Dad had been gone for weeks hunting a werewolf and the money had run out a couple days ago. Sammy was hungry and wouldn't stop complaining, and Dean couldn't take it anymore. So he'd left, both to give himself a break and to find some food.

He didn't remember much after that. 

"Sammy?" he whispered, surprised by how raw his voice sounded. It hurt to talk and he wondered if he'd been screaming. At some point he must have come back to the room, but where was Sammy? He used the bed’s remains to haul himself to his feet, disconcerted with the way his center of gravity seemed to be off. 

The door of the room creaked open, alarmingly loud in the silence, and Dean whipped around. He stopped short at the sight of the gun pointing squarely at his chest. Incredibly, Dad was the one holding it. He stared at Dean with an unfamiliar, hard expression. Even when Dad was exhausted and in pain from a hunt, or so drunk he barely remembered his own name, he'd never looked at Dean like that before. Like he didn't even know who Dean was.

"Dad?"

"Don't," Dad said sharply, keeping the gun trained on Dean even as he reached out and flicked the light on. It was startling in spite of the fact that he'd known it was coming and Dean winced, squinting. The room was in even worse shape than he'd thought. 

"Don't what?" he asked, confused. "Dad, what's going on? Where's Sammy? And why d'you have your gun?"

Dad's face twisted the way it did when Mom was mentioned, but it smoothed out fast and his eyes got even harder. "Put these on."

He stooped down, setting something on the ground, and kicked it - them - across the floor. Whatever it was came to rest against Dean's sneakers. 

"But -"

"Do it. Now." 

Dean's eyes lingered on the gun before he bent to pick it up. Three thin leather cuffs, he realized, hooked together, though they came apart easily enough when he tugged. Two of them were small enough to fit around his wrists. The other was a little bigger, and he fingered it silently for a moment before looking back up at his dad. As he did, his fingers made contact with a little flash of coolness on the inside. The sharp pain made him cry out and drop the cuff.

"Dad, what -"

"Put. It. On." Dad's voice only grew firmer and his finger cocked warningly on the trigger. For the first time, Dean noticed that it was the gun Dad kept the silver bullets in. He glanced at the inner lining of the two cuffs he still held. Both had a thin thread of unbroken silver stitched inside along the lining.

Without saying a word he slipped a cuff over first one wrist and then the other. The pain was instantaneous, kind of like how it felt the time he was trying to cook Sammy dinner and he'd accidentally leaned against the burner for a little too long. Only it didn't stop, because he couldn't pull away. He fisted his hands, pressing blunted nails against his palms and tamping down against it the way Dad had taught. Hunters couldn't give in to pain, not when lives could be on the line.

Gritting his teeth together, he leaned down and picked up the third cuff. Unlike the others, this one unfastened and the silver band on the inside was thicker. He stared at it for a moment before looking back at Dad. He didn't understand what was going on. Why did silver suddenly burn him? Where was his little brother? Why was Dad pointing a gun at him? There were so many questions tumbling through his mind, but Dad didn't look like he was willing to answer any of them until that collar was around Dean's neck.

So slowly, he obeyed.

Dean must have blacked out, because the next thing he knew he was sprawled on the floor and Dad was leaning over him. The gun was on the floor beside them, close enough to Dad that it was within easy reach but positioned away from Dean. Dad was fiddling with something on the collar. The tugging made it burn worse as new flesh was rubbed against the silver, and Dean whimpered.

"Dad," he said, or tried to. His voice emerged as a broken rasp, barely audible, and Dad probably wouldn't have heard had he not been so close.

"No," Dad said, and he stopped, leaning back on his heels. "I know what you are, and you are not my son. You don't get to call me that anymore. You call me 'sir' and nothing else, you hear me? "

No mistaking that tone of voice and even though he still had no idea what was going on, Dean nodded automatically as Dad grabbed the gun and stood up. He looked around at the blood. His jaw was set, and that, too, was familiar.

"You were supposed to look after Sammy," he said softly. "I should leave you here. Or put a silver bullet in your brain." His finger stroked the trigger again and Dean's heart skipped a beat, fear freezing him to the spot. "That's what I should do. And so help me, Dean, if you ever so much as look like you're gonna kill someone, that's what I'll do. Understand?"

"Y-yes."

"Yes what?" Dad barked.

"Yes sir."

That seemed to ease some of the tension in the air. Dad let go of the trigger and his hand dropped to his side. He was breathing hard. He said, "Get your shit together. You've got ten minutes. We have to get out of here."

Dean watched him walk out of the room. There was no mention of Sammy. Getting to his feet was hard. His body felt like it weighed several pounds more than before. Every movement was an effort. He painstakingly packed his and Sammy's things into their duffels and shuffled outside. It was daylight, but the sun had only just started to come up. Dad was in the front seat of the Impala and the car was already started. He put the duffels in the trunk and started to open the front door.

The gun was lying on the passenger seat.

He got in the back.

"Sir," he rasped, "Sammy -"

"Don't say that name to me. I trusted you, Dean. I trusted you and -" He broke off with a shuddery inhale that made Dean ache, and then he flipped some music on and cranked it way up. Dean stared out the window as the Impala peeled out of the parking lot.

He still didn't remember what happened, but he understood the only thing that mattered. Sammy was dead and it was all his fault.

**Thirteen years later**

"We don't get many FBI agents out our way."

The waitress was petite and sweet, with red hair and a generous rack that she was apparently not above shoving into the faces of FBI agents. Dean just smiled back, pouring all of his charm into it, and tried his best not to make it obvious that he was far more interested in the heaping platter of fries and onion rings she'd just placed in front of him. That, plus the awesome double cheeseburger with extra bacon and onions, was making his mouth water, and he really just wanted her to go away so he could enjoy his meal in peace.

But that could compromise the integrity of the hunt, so instead he settled for taking a swig of his beer and saying, "Well, if everyone in town is as hospitable as you, we might have to make our way out here more often."

She giggled and patted him on the shoulder, her fingers lingering, before she sashayed away slowly. Dean indulged in the curve of her generous bottom for only a moment before he dropped his gaze. He sighed happily as he picked up his burger, fingers sinking deep into the toasted bun and stomach tightening with anticipation as he took that first glorious bite. 

His cell beeped.

Dean dropped his burger and grabbed a napkin, smearing the grease from his fingers as he scrambled to get his phone out. He chewed hastily and swallowed, almost choking, because only one person ever sent him text messages or bothered to call him and if he did not respond promptly, there would be hell to pay.

"Hello?"

"Did you find anything?" 

"No sir."

"This vampire is killing people fast, Dean," John snapped, his ire coming down the line as clearly as though he'd been at the table in person. "He's averaging a kill every three days and it's already been two. That means the next victim is going to be chosen tonight."

"I know."

"What did you just say?"

"I -" Dean licked his lips. John wasn't drunk, but he was stressed. A bad combination. He tried to tread carefully, falling back on the tried and true. "I'm sorry, sir."

"Just do your job, damn it."

A faint click and the dial indicated the conversation was now over. Dean sighed and closed his phone. His food no longer looked appetizing, not when he'd just been reminded that there was a creature out there trying to find the next human to be their dinner. He pushed his plate away and looked around the crowded pub for the waitress. She was at the counter, but the second she noticed him looking she was over in a flash.

"You didn't like the food?" she asked.

"No, it’s great. But I just got a call. Partner might've found something. Think I could get this boxed up?" Dean asked with another smile. 

"No problem," she murmured, clearly disappointed, and picked the plate up. 

He watched her go again, and at least there was one bonus to his orders from John: he wouldn't have to sleep with her tonight.

His food came back and he tossed a credit card down just as his phone beeped again, this time with an incoming text message that ordered him to check out the downtown before he returned to the motel room. Once the waitress returned with his card, Dean collected his bag of food and left. He stood on the street for a couple of minutes, just looking around. The problem was he wasn't sure what he was looking for.

That was the thing about vampires. Until they got pissed off or too hungry to control themselves, they didn't look any different from the average human. If Dean got close enough he’d be able to smell the difference, but he doubted he'd get that lucky. 

Still, he did as John had asked. He prowled the streets for a good hour, but he stood out in his suit. Most of the foot traffic were the early night crowds of kids heading into bars, and the majority made sure to give him a wide berth. It sickened him to think that any one of them could've been the vampire's next target. Worse yet, none of them would ever see it coming.

No one seemed to be acting creepy, though in a crowd of drunk college kids it was hard to tell the difference. He witnessed a handful of kids sneaking off into alleys and followed, only to see a lot of bared skin for a reason that had nothing to do with vampires. It was frustrating, particularly when a couple of the more sober guys noticed his presence and got pissed that he was interrupting their "fun time" - their words, not his.

Needless to say he returned to the hotel empty handed, having dumped the food he'd got from the pub. He knocked on the door using the specific code he and John had worked out a long time ago before he opened it. John was already there, sitting on the edge of the bed with a beer in hand. There was a mess of papers around him, and that right there was more than enough to tell Dean that they were no closer to catching the vampire now than when they'd started. 

He stepped just inside and waited.

"Anything?" John barked out finally.

"No sir."

"Course not," John muttered into his beer as he took a long pull. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Otherwise you might actually be useful. Does it even matter to you that someone else could die tonight, Dean?"

"Yes," Dean said, maybe a little too defensively. After years of these kinds of questions, of John pushing and prodding to see how much he actually still cared about humanity, he should've been used to it. He wasn't. He plucked at the frayed edge of the cuff on his right wrist. "I looked all over the downtown. There were no signs of anything suspicious."

John just sneered and shook his head. "Get out."

Dean went. The night was growing colder and he could see his breath as he walked over to the Impala. He rested a hand on the trunk for a moment in greeting before he opened the door to the backseat and slid inside. It wouldn't be a warm night, but that was what the blanket on the floor was for. He curled up against the window and shivered just once. In the reflection of the glass, he could see the hated collar around his throat and the gleaming silver of the padlock that kept it shut.

He typically slept well in the Impala, but he often tossed and turned during the nights leading up to, during and just after the full moon. There was an itch under his skin that couldn't be scratched, one that was impossible to ignore. It was like being painfully thirsty, but no matter how much water you drank it never made a difference. He wasn't even exactly sure what it was he wanted, only that he wanted it. Even though the full moon had been a night ago, he did fall asleep.

Later, he would blame himself for that. For not being awake when John really needed him.

It was the shattering of glass that woke him out of a nightmarish sleep. The skin on the back of his neck prickled and he sat up, tensed and alert, ears straining for sounds that humans wouldn't be able to hear. A series of muffled thumps sent him stumbling from the car and tearing back towards John's hotel room. As he got closer he realized that the door was already open, the carefully drawn salt lines destroyed.

He shoved the door open the rest of the way. The two occupants in the room looked over at him. The vampire - and that's what the creature had to be, Dean could smell the bloodlust from where he was standing - didn't look surprised at first. His eyes trailed slowly up and down Dean's body, then lingered on his throat, and that's when his jaw tightened and surprise flickered across his face. His arm was clamped tightly around John's throat, preventing him from speaking, and he increased the pressure as he started to speak.

"I did wonder what a werewolf was doin' with a hunter, but now I guess I know," he said. He had a southern accent and it only sounded louder the more pissed he got. "You talk a story about what my kind is capable of, but it's nothing compared to what _you_ don't think twice about."

John made a few choked, sputtered protests. It was obvious he was trying to use every one of his old tricks to turn the situation to his advantage, but the vampire was simply too strong, his grip too well placed. 

"Let him go," Dean said, reaching for the machete that was on the desk. Why John hadn't been sleeping with it, he had no idea. It was unlike his father to go to bed without adequate protection when they were on a hunt, though there was an excellent chance that the dozen beer bottles scattered across the floor had something to do with it. 

"Why? So he can kill us both?" the vampire drawled. His teeth were sliding down now, changing the handsome face into something demonic and horrifying. "Gotta tell ya, kid, that's not my idea of a pleasant death. Hunters like this, there's only one thing you can do with 'em."

The crack of John's neck breaking seemed to reverberate around the room. Dean stared, shocked speechless, as the vampire let go and the body slumped to the ground. The vampire straightened up to his full height and it was only then that Dean realized how big he was. He was easily taller than Dean and had several pounds on him, most of them muscle.

None of that stopped Dean from launching himself at the vampire with an enraged cry, machete held ready. The vampire was ready for him, gripping his arm and yanking it down, twisting his body neatly so that he came up behind Dean. Dean pivoted, switching the machete to his other hand and slashing out, and managed to knock the vampire's hat off. The vampire huffed a laugh and caught his other wrist, slamming him backwards against the wall with a resounding thud. The machete hit the floor and the vampire kicked it away.

"I oughta kill you," he said. "But you're just a pup and I can tell you don't know what the hell you're doing. And what with that collar, I'm not sure my wife would ever speak to me again."

"Go fuck yourself," Dean snarled, fighting against the vampire's hold. Normally his increased strength was an advantage when it came to fighting physically, but in this case he was discovering that there was no way he was getting free. The vampire was pinning him to the wall as easily as though Dean were a newborn baby.

The vampire chuckled again. "And you're spirited; shame you're a pup or I'd adopt you here and now. Fortunately for your sake, I happen to know a pack that'll take you off my hands."

Dean struggled harder, but there was no ducking the blow that caught him on the back of the head. He slumped into the vampire's arms, darkness sliding across his vision like an oily film as he blacked out to the sight of John Winchester's body.

\--

Castiel was in his bedroom reading when Gabriel came crashing through his door. It was far from the first time that his brother had interrupted him and he doubted it would be the last, but that made it no less irritating. He didn't try to hide his annoyance as he said, "I wish you would learn how to knock."

"I know how to knock. It just slows me down too much," Gabriel replied. "Come on, baby bro, I need your help."

"With what?"

"Benny called. He said he's got something to drop off."

"And for that, you need my help?" Castiel said skeptically, making no move to get up from his very comfortable position. It was widely known that he and Benny didn't get along very well. He typically made it a point to be scarce whenever Gabriel announced that the vampire was dropping by for a visit.

"In this case, yes." Plucking the book out of Castiel's hands and throwing it down on the bed, Gabriel grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet. Castiel sighed but allowed himself to be towed out of the room and into the kitchen. He stopped short at the sight of the table, which was covered with the kind of medical supplies that Gabriel usually kept at his office. A cold knot began to form in the pit of his belly as he started to understand exactly why Gabriel wanted his help.

"What's going on?" he asked.

Gabriel shook his head. "Not sure. He just said he was about twenty minutes out and to be ready to treat someone with serious injuries. Knowing Benny, that could mean just about anything."

That sounded ominous. Fortunately, Castiel did not have long to wonder. Not six minutes later, there was a series of rough knocks on the door. He was the one who opened it, so he also was awarded the dubious honor of having a body dumped into his arms with no warning. He staggered back a couple of steps under the unexpected weight, finally bracing himself with a shoulder against the doorframe. 

It was a boy - a pup. Or a man, maybe, though it was hard to tell how old he was when his face was relaxed in sleep. He had light brown hair and was actually very attractive, but most of that went unnoticed after Castiel saw the state of his neck. An angry red burn mark, about two inches wide, circled his throat. The flesh had probably been burned to near black at one point, but the pup's natural healing ability had already been trying to repair the damage.

The pup whimpered when Castiel's arms automatically tightened around him, and protective instinct reared claws in Castiel's chest. His head whipped up and he pinned Benny Lafitte with a furious glare. "What did you do to him?" he hissed.

"Whoa," Benny said, one eyebrow raising. "Calm down, Mama. I wasn't the one who did this. You can thank a hunter for that."

"A hunter?" Gabriel repeated, stepping forward and smoothly sliding between the two of them. "Here?"

"No. In Jasper," Benny replied grimly. "There was a couple rogue vampires going around killin’ people and giving us a bad name. When I showed up to correct their attitude, I noticed signs that hunters were already in town. This one" he nodded to the pup "and his partner. Imagine my surprise when I tracked the older one to a hotel room and the puppy showed up collared." He dropped a clear plastic bag on the ground.

Castiel stared at the contents, speechless, his throat closed up with horror. It was a leather collar and cuffs, all of which had silver stitched on the inside. The collar still had a padlock attached. He glanced down at the pup's arms, already knowing what he would see. More of the horrible burn marks surrounded each wrist, looking raw and painful.

"Shit. Cassie, I need you to take him into my bedroom. I'll bring the supplies in," Gabriel said, already moving into the kitchen to collect his medical supplies. Castiel obeyed, though he did not take the pup into Gabriel's room. He went into his own bedroom instead, gently placing the pup on his comforter. Another pained whimper tore at his heart, and when the pup grabbed at his retreating arm and clung to his hand he couldn't back away. He stayed close, letting the pup hold on.

If Gabriel was surprised to see them in Castiel's bedroom, he did not show it. His complete focus was on the injured pup. The first thing he did was carefully cut the pup's clothing from his body, leaving him naked on the bed so that they could assess his wounds. Physically, the pup didn't look like he was in too bad a shape. There was some bruising on his torso and a stitched cut on his upper left shoulder but that was it, and Gabriel immediately concentrated on the burns. 

He sent Benny to fetch a pot of clean water and, once he had that, began cleaning them. Even though he was making every effort to be gentle, the pup cried out in pain at the first touch. Castiel tried to soothe him from where he was perched on the top of the bed out of Gabriel's way. Gabriel was muttering furiously under his breath as he worked, a combination of curses and slurs against hunters. His fingers remained steady and tender as he smeared a cool cream across the burns and then bandaged them. 

"Silver poisoning," he said as he used tape to secure the last bandage, thoroughly disgusted. "I can see the signs clear as day. His healing ability's not anywhere near what it should be; he's got a tattoo for fuck's sake! And his heart rate runs slow, there's silver lines under his nails and on his gums, his pupils are dilated to shit..." He pulled up one of the pup's eyelids and growled low in his chest. "This pup was being killed slow. I bet he didn't even give you a fight."

"Not at all," Benny said from where he was standing in the doorway, arms crossed. "Weakest wolf I've ever fought, pup or no."

Gabriel growled low in his chest. Castiel stiffened on instinct, his fingers tightening around the pup’s. He hadn’t heard Gabriel make a sound like that since the day Castiel had shown up on his doorstep. 

“His temperature’s off the charts now that the silver’s gone. If he even survives, he’ll be recuperating for months. You probably saved his life, Benny.”

“I’m sure he won’t thank me.” Benny’s smile was all teeth, humorless. 

“I will,” Castiel said quietly. “Thank you, Benny.”

He did not look up at the astonished silence that followed, keeping his eyes on the pup’s face. The lines of pain had smoothed out a little now, though there was still a deep furrow between his eyebrows. He was puzzled by how much he wanted to take that away.

“Right,” Gabriel said after a long pause. “Cassie, you stay here. Lemme know if he wakes up. Benny, let’s talk.” It didn’t matter that Gabriel was way shorter than Benny; he muscled the vampire out of the room with ease, leaving the door open a crack. Castiel heard the low murmur of their voices as they walked down the hall and knew that Gabriel was probably asking a multitude of questions that Benny would have no answer for.

The pup shivered, drawing his attention back to the bed, and Castiel released his hand to reach for a blanket that was draped over his desk chair. He gently pulled it up over the pup’s body, tucking it in around his shoulders. That done, he settled back down on the edge of the bed and picked up the book he’d been reading. It was weird to think that not an hour ago, his plans for the night had involved nothing more complicated than figuring out how he’d convince Gabriel to order something other than pizza for dinner.

Now they had this. A pup had been literally dumped into their laps. And a young one, too. If pressed to guess Castiel would've said maybe early twenties, though another considering glance at the pup's relaxed features suggested that might be generous. Barely old enough to be away from his pack. So how had he ended up with a hunter, of all things? Especially since most hunters outside of their town refused to understand that some supernatural creatures didn't intend harm towards anyone. 

He read for a little while until the pup grew restless, shifting around on the bed and making little whines that tugged at his heart. He began reading out loud from his textbook, and even though the words were dry and boring the sound of his voice seemed to be enough. The pup settled, rolling onto his side facing Castiel and curling up a little. 

"He likes you," Gabriel said from behind him,

Castiel glanced over his shoulder. "I haven't tried to hurt him, so I'm sure that he does," he said dryly. "Benny's gone?"

"He's been away from Andrea and the kids too long. He couldn't stay, not that I figured you'd want him to." Gabriel smirked and walked in, placing a hand on the pup's forehead to check his temperature.

"What happened to him, Gabriel?" Castiel asked.

Gabriel looked at him for a long moment and then sighed. "It's hard to say, kiddo. Benny really doesn't know that much more than we do. He says he found the pup with a hunter and that he was wearing the collar and cuffs. He broke them to get them off when he realized that they were silver. Based on his description of what the pup looked like at first, I'd say he's been wearing them for years."

"Wouldn't that have killed him?"

"No. Silver's poisonous in high doses or if we ingest it, but long term exposure's just a slow way to die. Eventually, yeah, he'd have keeled over." The thin lines around Gabriel's mouth tightened. "It's probably been happening for so long that his body's just concentrating on keeping him alive. Now that the silver's gone, his immune system has kicked into overdrive. And that could kill him just as easily as silver poisoning could."

"What can we do for him?" Castiel dropped his gaze, back to the pup. That clawed feeling was back in his chest. He wanted to track down the hunter who had done this and rip him apart.

"Unfortunately, not a whole lot. I'll contact Bobby and see if he has any suggestions, but..." Gabriel shook his head slowly, and his scent was permeated with anguish. He hated losing anyone, hated when he couldn't do anything to help, but nothing bothered him more than seeing pups in pain.

"I'll stay here," said Castiel. "He seemed to like it when I read to him."

He watched his brother leave the room before returning his attention to his book. He read out loud for a couple of hours until his voice grew hoarse. Gabriel popped his head in to say that he had been called out for an emergency, but to call him if there was any change. Castiel didn’t think there would be. The pup hadn’t moved for a while, long enough that Castiel had checked to be certain that he was still breathing. He was. But he seemed to be intent on sleeping off whatever was going on with his body.

It was probably for the best, and although he didn’t want to leave the pup alone he did go out to the kitchen and order Chinese – enough for two people, just in case, since Gabriel typically ended up coming home hungry. He ate his meal in the bedroom and then cleaned up, taking a quick shower. As he pulled on his pajamas, he glanced again at the slumbering pup. He looked so innocent but for the burn marks around his neck and wrists, physical representation of the torture he had likely suffered.

Disgusting. What kind of a hunter would do that, and how had the pup ended up with him? Castiel scowled, pausing just long enough to pull the blanket back up around the pup’s shoulders before he went out to the living room. The sofa wasn’t the most comfortable of sleeping spaces, but that had little to do with how long it took him to fall asleep.

\--

Dean’s head hurt. A lot. More than it did the last time he got kicked in the head by a ghoul, even. It took him a few seconds to work out how to get his eyelids to respond, and then a few more to decide if he really wanted them to open. Because he didn’t remember much about how he’d come to be laying down on a surface that was so soft there was no possible way that it could’ve been a motel bed. This bed was proof that the pieces of shit motels used shouldn’t even be called beds.

Finally, his self-preservation instincts took over and he forced his eyes to open. The room swam into view slowly, a white ceiling with purple walls. He turned his head slightly to the side so that he could see the guy sitting beside him. He was hot, the kind of guy Dean wouldn’t have minded sleeping with for information, and looking right at Dean. His eyes were the bluest imaginable shade of blue, and it was right about then that Dean figured he must have a concussion if he was thinking soppy crap like that.

“Hello,” the guy said, and his voice was unexpectedly deep and gravelly. “Do you want some water?”

Dean nodded. Right then his throat was so raw he could’ve given the guy a run for his money. He watched as the guy picked up a cup of water and tilted it, placing the straw against his lips. The warm water felt so fucking amazing going down that he didn’t even stop to think how stupid he was being for accepting it from a stranger. And by that time it was too late. There must’ve been something in his expression that gave his train of thought away because the guy smiled a little, although it was a sad kind of smile.

“It won’t hurt you. You’ve had some three times now.”

Three times? Dean raised his eyebrows in query.

“I’m guessing you don’t recall waking up before, then,” the guy said, taking cup and straw away. “My name is Castiel. You’re in my bedroom, in the apartment that I share with my older brother Gabriel. You’ve been unconscious for the past three days. We’ve had this conversation before, though admittedly you weren’t very lucid so I’m not surprised you don’t remember.”

It bothered him that he couldn’t. “What happened?” he asked, surprised by how hoarse his voice still sounded.

Castiel – and wasn’t that a mouthful – frowned. “You don’t remember?”

“Kinda. It’s fuzzy,” Dean said, and then stopped. No matter how bad the pain in his head was, it wasn’t bad enough to make him forget about John’s number one rule. He didn’t know where he was or who Castiel was, whether the guy was a civilian or hunter or threat. Better to stick with as little information as possible and let Castiel fill in the blanks.

“You were saved by a vampire,” Castiel said flatly, which threw all of Dean’s theories about civilians right out the window.

It also brought his memory rushing back. He surged up but Castiel was there, hands like iron clamped around his upper arms and shoving him right back down against the pillows. Dean fought, but he was pathetically weak and Castiel was too strong, and the fight was short-lived. He sank back against the mattress, gasping, nearly blinded from the surging pain in his temples. 

“Calm down,” that low voice ordered. “You are safe here. No one will hurt you.”

Dean stared at the blue eyes a couple of inches away and ignored the way his chest tightened. He hadn’t been safe in years. Not since he was four years old. “What happened? Who the hell are you?”

“I told you, my name is Castiel. My older brother is friends with the vampire who rescued you. He brought you here so that you could be cared for.” Slowly, making sure that Dean wouldn’t lash out, Castiel eased up on the tightness of his grip, though he kept his hands on Dean’s arms. “It was a good thing he did. You’re very ill with silver poisoning. My brother wasn’t sure that you would survive.”

Silver poisoning. Dean glanced instinctively down at his wrists, already knowing that the cuffs would be gone. He didn’t need to touch his throat to know the collar was, too. Fear prickled the back of his neck. “You took them off? Why?”

“They were killing you.”

“They were helping me!” Dean insisted. 

“Helping you?”

“To keep me from losing control and hurting someone.”

Castiel sucked in a startled breath, his fingers flexing before he suddenly let go. He leaned back in his chair, studying Dean’s face intently. “Do you believe you would hurt someone?”

“I’m a monster,” Dean muttered, refusing to meet the penetrating gaze. “Of course I would.”

“I don’t believe that’s true.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t know me.”

“Perhaps not, but I know a lot about werewolves,” Castiel replied, and when Dean looked up at him in surprise he saw that the corners of Castiel’s mouth were quirked up into a faint smile. “You’re not a monster, Dean, and you didn’t deserve to live like that.”

Dean just shook his head. It was too much, too fast, and the pounding in his head wasn’t going away. “Can I have another drink?”

“Of course.” 

The water tasted just as good this time and it gave him a few seconds to think. His memory was still a little blurry, but he remembered watching that vampire kill John. There’d been no remorse, no second guessing, just a clean kill between natural enemies. Vampires were monsters, but Dean hadn’t died. He was still alive because the vampire had counted him on the same team. 

He closed his eyes as he finished drinking. “Thanks,” he said.

“No problem. I have medication if you’re in pain. Are you allergic to anything?”

He blinked, a little surprised. “I, uh, don’t know. I don’t think so.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know?”

“I’ve never had a reaction to anything,” Dean said, which was easier than explaining rule three: things that could save or ease human life, like medication, weren’t to be wasted on monsters.

“That’s good,” Castiel said, frowning a little, but he uncapped a bottle and shook two white pills into Dean’s hands. He helped Dean to drink for a third time, emptying the cup. “You should sleep now. When you wake up, my brother will be home.”

“Great,” Dean muttered, obediently closing his eyes. Loathe as he was to fall asleep around a stranger, he didn’t have the feeling that Castiel would hurt him. And the bed was a lot more comfortable than the Impala’s backseat, much as he loved his baby, especially when the blankets were tugged up around his shoulders.

He slept for a while, until the sound of hushed voices filtered through. He recognized Castiel’s deeper voice, but the other was unfamiliar and put him on guard. He opened his eyes a slit to look, but it turned out the room was empty and the voices were coming through the open door. There was another cup of water on the nightstand and he pushed himself up, reaching for it. God he was thirsty, like he hadn’t had anything to drink for years.

Half the cup had been drained by the time a short guy strode into the room. “Good, you’re drinking fluids,” the guy said, pushing his way right up to the bed. Dean choked and flinched when a hand was put to his forehead without warning, but the guy didn’t take the hint. He kept his hand there with a muttered admonishment to hold still and then leaned down, peering closely into Dean’s eyes.

“This is my brother, Gabriel,” Castiel said from behind the guy.

“Little touchy feely, aren’t you?”

“Only when it comes to patients who were pretty much beating down Death’s door,” Gabriel said mildly, tilting Dean’s head back. Unexpectedly gentle fingers touched his throat and he stiffened at _sensation_ brushing across flesh that hadn’t been exposed in years. 

“You a doctor, then?” he asked to cover up his momentary discomfort.

“Vet, actually, but I’ve had plenty of experience at both.” Gabriel’s smile was grim, silencing anything that Dean might have come up with, and he went quiet as Gabriel prodded at his throat and then checked his wrists. He rested his fingertips on Dean’s pulse for a moment. “Well, the good news is I don’t think you’re gonna die anytime soon. You were pretty close there for a while. Now that we know you're gonna live, what's your name?"

“Dean," he said automatically, not stopping to think about the possible ramifications of giving his real name. He quickly asked again, "What happened to me? What did the vampire do?” Surely the cuffs and collar John had put on him couldn’t have done _that_ much damage. “

“Saved your ass. You had silver poisoning, bucko, one of the worst cases I’ve ever seen. Your body went into shock when Benny removed the source. It’s a lucky thing he brought you here, or you would’ve gone into a coma and died.”

“Then he should have just left the collar alone.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow at that. “Exactly who was that hunter?”

“None of your business.”

“Because I was talking to a couple of my contacts,” Gabriel barreled on, like Dean hadn’t even spoke, “and they mentioned that there were rumors of a hunter who had a werewolf pet for a companion.”

The word _pet_ stung more than Dean wanted it to. Against his will, he heard John’s voice ringing in his ears. 

_I know what you are, and you are not my son._

“Gabriel,” Castiel said, reaching out and catching his brother’s arm. “Dean looks tired. Perhaps it would be best if we allowed him to rest.”

Gabriel didn’t say anything for a moment, still staring at Dean with a hard look in his eyes. Finally, he shrugged. “Fine. I’ve gotta head out, anyway. Don’t let him out of bed until at least tomorrow, Cassie.”

“I won’t.”

He should’ve felt better once Gabriel walked out, but Dean didn’t. His throat felt tight and naked without the collar. He avoided Castiel’s gaze, instead staring down at his hands: an unfamiliar sight, now that the cuffs were gone too. 

Dean was alone now. His only family had been killed by a vampire because Dean hadn’t been fast enough, strong enough, to stop it from happening. And the worst part about it was that he knew John would have blamed him for it. Just like Sammy, John had paid the price for depending on him.

Taking more pills that Castiel promised would make him sleep, this time small and blue, was almost a blessing, if only because it was an escape from the guilt for just a little while.

\--

It was a couple of days before Castiel allowed him to get up. Dean felt weaker than he would have admitted, but he was desperate for a shower. Castiel showed him to the bathroom and left clothing and a towel for him on the counter before giving him privacy. He climbed in, switching the water as hot as it would go, and just stood under the stream for what felt like hours.

A guilty pleasure, one he sometimes indulged in if John was gone from the hotel room for a few hours, and the thought that now he didn’t have to worry about John barging in on him soured the experience a little.

He washed his hair with Castiel’s shampoo, inhaling the subtle fragrance of vanilla, which Dean had noticed when Castiel came close enough to help him out of the bed, and then his body. It had been a while since he’d taken a shower and he was filthy with sweat and dirt and grime. The flesh around his wrists and throat was tender, still reddened with burns, but the pain didn’t deter him from pressing hard. 

No matter how hard he scrubbed, until the flesh was bright red and stung horribly, they wouldn’t go away.

The bathroom was full of steam by the time he dried off. The clothing Castiel had left smelled like him. Dean slipped the shirt on. It was too large in the shoulders, but the jeans fit fine. He padded out into the apartment on bare feet and was struck with the delicious smell of food. Up till now Castiel had brought him toast and tea for the most part, but this smelled fucking fantastic. Dean followed his nose out to the kitchen.

“Feel better?” Castiel asked without glancing away from the microwave.

“A little,” Dean said, sliding into an empty seat at the table. As soon as he was sitting he realized how tired he really was. The shower had taken more out of him than he thought it would. He leaned his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his hands, watching as Castiel heated another bowl of soup before bringing them both over to the table. 

“Just leftovers,” he explained quietly, setting one bowl in front of Dean. “I’m afraid my brother and I aren’t very good at cooking.”

“Looks awesome to me,” Dean said. Shit, anything that didn’t come out of a diner would’ve looked awesome. He grabbed his spoon and lifted the first mouthful to his lips before freezing. He hadn’t even thought to check if the silverware was actually silver. But it wasn’t burning his hand. He lifted his eyes to Castiel. 

“We don’t keep silver around, Dean,” Castiel said, amused. “It’s dangerous for all werewolves, not just you.”

“Wait. You’re…”

“Yes.”

Dean stared. Castiel looked so… _normal_. He was kind of a dork and was way too attached to books, considering that 9 times out of 10 when Dean woke up Castiel was sitting beside him with his head buried in one. He tolerated his annoying brother with surprisingly good humor, since Dean had already decided after just two encounters that Gabriel was a douchebag, and he was sarcastic but didn’t seem to understand a lot of the references Dean made.

But Castiel was also kind and gentle, sometimes hovering over Dean with a look on his face like he wanted so badly to heal Dean and it pissed him off that he couldn’t. He’d spent the last few days right beside Dean, present almost every time he woke up, and never once pressed for details the way Gabriel did – and both times that Gabriel had, Castiel had made his brother stop asking. 

It was impossible to think that Castiel was a werewolf, to equate this man with being a monster who lived on the edge, something that could snap at any second and kill someone. Something that turned into an uncontrollable beast every month that _did_ kill people.

“I was born this way,” Castiel went on, seemingly unaware that Dean’s brain had temporarily crashed. “Both Gabriel and I were raised in a pack.”

“Were?” Dean repeated automatically.

“Gabriel didn’t like the restrictions of the pack. He ran off when he was seventeen,” Castiel said. He swallowed a couple of mouthfuls of soup and tapped the spoon nervously against the edge of the bowl as he added, “When I left, he was the only person I knew of to go to. Fortunately, by that time he was in a position to take me in.”

There were a lot of questions running through Dean’s head right then, so many that even if he was bold enough to ask he wouldn’t know which one to ask first. There was definitely a story here. But he didn’t ask. Castiel hadn’t pressed him, and it only felt right to return the favor. And if Dean needed a little while to assimilate this shocking bit of information into the knowledge he already had on Castiel, well, no one needed to know that.

Still, though. This was a reminder that he didn’t really know anything about Castiel or Gabriel. Even though he’d basically been living with them, they were still strangers. He ate his soup in silence, troubled, and didn’t protest when Castiel told him to go into the living room while he washed up. 

It was the first time he’d been outside the bedroom and he took the opportunity to look around. The room was sparsely decorated, with only a painting of horses running through a field over the couch. No pictures of family, not even one of Castiel or Gabriel. There was a huge TV and what looked like a decent set of video games and DVDs, as well as two bookcases that were both crammed full of everything from fiction to manuals to accounting textbooks. Comfortable, yes, and certainly a thousand times better than a motel room, but not really homey.

Hearing a sound behind him, he said, “Where’s my car?” He dreaded the answer. Baby could be in an impound lot by now.

“Parked downstairs.”

Dean turned around quickly. “Really?”

“Yes. Benny drove it here.”

The skin on his palms itched at the idea of a vampire being behind the wheel of the Impala. Though he supposed it was slightly better than the car having been left behind for vandals or kids or some stupid tow truck driver. “Why?”

“Why what?” Castiel wiped his hands on the dishcloth.

“Why didn’t he kill me too? I’m a hunter. I’d kill him if I got the chance. It’s what we do.”

Castiel shrugged. “I can’t answer that.”

Dean clenched his fists, frustrated at the lack of answers. He’d attacked Benny. Tried to cut his head off. And Benny had killed John. Revenge was what fucking _drove_ 90% of the hunters out there. Didn’t Benny care that Dean might come after him now? Or did he think that Dean wouldn’t bother? He had to ask. “Is it because I’m a monster like him?”

“You’re not a monster, Dean,” Castiel said, gentle but firm. “Just because you’re a werewolf doesn’t mean you’re going to hurt someone, or that you’re automatically friends with vampires.” He took a step closer. “Benny is one of the… nicer vampires I’ve met, though personally I don’t get along with him. He’s more Gabriel’s friend than mine. Maybe that’s why he saved you. I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

“I should hunt his ass down,” Dean muttered, putting a hand to his head. It was starting to ache. He felt so conflicted. Things that had been drummed into his head over the years were suddenly being challenged. He looked over at Castiel and tried to imagine him killing someone. Dorky Castiel, with his mismatching socks and messy hair and the dishcloth draped across his shoulder. He couldn’t. 

“You could, but I would advise against it. Benny has a large family and several loyal friends that would all pose a serious threat to your health if you did.” A hand gripped his bicep, steering him towards the couch and pushing him down. 

“I’ve had worse odds.”

“You weren’t born a werewolf,” Castiel said quietly, taking a seat beside him. He tossed the dishcloth onto the coffee table. 

“No.”

“It can be hard, after you’re turned, to deal with what happens. Typically your Alpha would help you adjust to the changes. But I’m guessing that since you were with a hunter, you weren’t given that option.”

“No,” Dean said again. Castiel hadn’t pressed, and until now Dean hadn’t felt the urge to share. He closed his eyes. “I was just a kid when I got bit. I was supposed to be watching my little brother, but I left the hotel room for a little while. By the time I came back…” He trailed off, because he still didn’t remember exactly what had happened. The time between coming back to the room and when he woke up covered in blood was still a blur. It still frustrated him not to _know_ , but if the memory hadn’t come back by now he didn’t think it was going to.

“Your brother?”

“Dead,” Dean whispered through numb lips. The pain of losing Sammy had never faded, not when he was reminded of it constantly. Riding in the back of the Impala alone, not sharing a bed at night, tossing out his old clothing, participating in hunts instead of being left behind to babysit, the way John looked - _had_ looked at him.

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

“It was my fault. I shouldn’t have left him in the first place. Maybe if I had… Dad left us a gun loaded with silver bullets. I might’ve been able to do something.”

“You were a child. I doubt you could have stopped a werewolf, especially one attacking children.” Castiel was studying him. Dean could feel those eyes boring through him. But he wasn’t expecting Castiel to come out with, “Was your father a hunter? Was he in town hunting werewolves that night when you and your brother were attacked?”

Unable to speak, Dean just nodded.

Castiel sighed. “There are certain werewolves… typically ones who are sick, or out of their minds with grief, or whose bodies rejected the changes, or who are left to fend for themselves and can’t handle it… they give themselves over to the wolf when they change. Then there are others who deliberately take joy in the more base instincts. They’re sick as a human and they’re sick as a wolf. It doesn’t make _you_ a monster, Dean, no more than it does me or my brother or most other werewolves out there.”

What Castiel was saying painted a pretty picture, but Dean knew it wasn’t true. He’d hunted too many creatures over the years to believe it. Maybe Castiel was able to control himself. Maybe Dean never would’ve known that he was a werewolf if Castiel hadn’t come right out and admitted it. Maybe there were creatures like that and no one was ever the wiser.

But then there were the ones like Dean, and that was what he and John had hunted.

“Do you want to watch television for a while?” Castiel asked after several minutes of silence had passed.

“Sure,” Dean said, grateful for the thought of a distraction. Not that he regretted telling Castiel what little he had, but he needed something else to focus on. “Actually… I saw you had a copy of Lord of The Rings. Can we watch that?”

“I’ve never seen it. Those movies belong to Gabriel.”

“You’ve never seen it?” Dean stared at him in disbelief. Even he’d taken the time to sneak into theatres showing the movies when they were first released. It was the only way he would ever have the opportunity to see them – or so he thought at the time.

Castiel shrugged. “I don’t mind watching them, though, if that’s what you want.” He got up and selected the first movie, removing the disc and placing it in the slot of the DVD player. He grabbed the remote and switched the TV on. Dean leaned back against the couch, folding his arms, as the familiar music began. 

Hanging out with Castiel wasn’t what he expected it to be. Granted, Dean couldn’t really remember the last time he’d spent time with someone just because: his time was usually spent on a hunt or searching for new hunts or earning money. It was something of a novel experience. Castiel didn’t have much of an opinion when it came to pop culture, so he was usually willing to watch whatever Dean wanted to see. 

So during the first few days, while Dean felt too weak to really do much more than sit or stand for very brief periods, they watched a _lot_ of movies. Gabriel’s tastes ran wild, and he had a little bit of everything mixed up in his collection. Some movies were so old and so bad that Dean couldn’t believe anyone would want to own them. Others were classics, like Star Wars, movies that Dean watched in awed silence because it had been a damn long time since he had the chance to sit down and watch them properly.

Gabriel flitted in and out of the apartment, but overall he didn’t seem to spend much time there. He typically stopped in just long enough to check on Dean and make sure that he wasn't dying before he ran off again. Castiel told him once, as they watched Gabriel strut through the room in a bright purple suit, that Gabriel had an on-again-off-again girlfriend, Kali. Currently the two of them were on, and that meant Gabriel’s free time was pretty limited. He sounded kind of sad as he said it, and Dean wondered if Castiel missed his brother in particular or if he was just lonely.

God knew Dean was well acquainted with how lonely felt.

The day after they had the Star Wars marathon, Castiel came out of the bedroom freshly showered and changed and stood in front of Dean. “I have to go to work,” he said.

With a start, Dean realized that he’d basically been mooching off the two of them for a while now. “Shit, Cas, I’m sorry,” he blurted out, getting to his feet so quickly that the room spun. “I’ve been taking up your room, too. You should’ve said something sooner. I’ll get out of your way.”

“You don’t have to leave,” Castiel told him.

“Yeah, I do,” Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck. Had it really been that long? Everything had settled into a low hum at the back of his head, the issue of werewolves and hunters and vampires something that he could tentatively ignore so long as he didn’t go poking at it. It helped that Castiel never left him alone with his thoughts for long, and the hours of trashy movies they’d partaken in would have slowed anyone’s mind to a dull roar. 

“No, you don’t,” Castiel said firmly. “If I wanted you to leave, I would say so. You’re still injured, for one thing. It’s not safe for you to be behind the wheel yet. Particularly if you’re planning on trying to track down a vampire that’s hundreds of years old.”

There was a question implicit there, one that Dean tried not to pick up on. He knew Castiel was curious about him, about the things that Dean hadn’t said, like why he’d stayed with a hunter and where the collar and cuffs had come from. Why he was a hunter himself. Dean hadn’t shared anymore. He couldn’t. Some things about his life were just too private, some rules from John too deeply ingrained. How many times had he been told that he was never supposed to talk about his real past?

_Anything you tell someone is something that can be used against you, Dean. Information matters. That’s why everyone wants it. And if you let information fall into the wrong hands, it can mean the difference between you walking away from a hunt and being the next batch of blood on some bastard’s claws._

“I’m taking up your space,” Dean said instead. “Eating your food.”

“My brother and I invited you into our home. You do not need to leave,” Castiel repeated, narrowing his eyes in that squint Dean was quickly becoming familiar with. It was Castiel’s stubborn face. “I was not trying to imply that you should. I merely meant that you would be welcome to come with me, as I know you are uncomfortable around Gabriel and he will probably be home tonight.”

“Where do you work?” Dean asked, tamping down on the urge to protest that he wasn’t uncomfortable around Gabriel. He really wasn’t. The dude was just an asshole, and Dean didn’t have a whole lot of experience in dealing with assholes he wasn’t allowed to gank. And Gabriel might’ve been a werewolf, but he’d also saved Dean’s life and there was no evidence he had ever hurt anyone.

It was a confusing mess he hadn’t figured out how to solve yet. On the one hand his instincts demanded that he grab a gun from the Impala’s trunk and put a silver bullet in both Castiel’s and Gabriel’s hearts. Easy answer. But on the other hand, they had helped him when they didn’t have to. Neither one of them had asked for anything in return, not even money. Not even a promise that Dean wouldn’t lop their heads off while they were asleep.

“I work at a place called the Roadhouse,” said Castiel, drawing Dean away from his increasingly consuming thoughts. “I’m an accounting student, and I take care of their books. Occasionally, when the need arises, I fill in as a waiter. When you arrived, I took some time off so that I could care for you. But we’re entering into our busy season and Ellen needs me tonight.”

Dean quashed the familiar surge of guilt. “Is that what you’re doing tonight?”

“I’m not sure yet. It depends on if Ellen needs me. You should come with me, Dean. At the very least you’ll get an amazing meal out of it, and it would probably do you some good to get out for a while.”

Dean hesitated briefly. He really didn’t want to spend the night at the apartment alone, never mind with Gabriel. It had been a while since he’d gone out for any other reason than a hunt or making money, but it couldn’t be that hard. “Alright. Sure.”

Castiel smiled, apparently pleased, and threw a jacket at him. Dean only just managed to catch it. He was wearing a borrowed pair of jeans and shirt, both of which fit him well if somewhat loosely. The jacket, made from fine red leather with numerous pockets, was the same. It smelled of Castiel just like the rest of the clothing did, but the leather clung to the scent and made it stronger. He had to stop himself from pressing his nose to the fabric.

Going outside was weird. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gone anywhere without the collar and cuffs to make sure he stayed in line. The first two people he saw as he stepped out the door was a mom and her kid eating ice cream. He tensed, his heart pounding a bit harder as he waited for the urge to rip them both apart to sweep over him. For several seconds he just stood there and stared at them, unable to look away even when the mom gave him a weird look and grabbed her kid's hand to hurry past the house.

"Dean." A familiar hand dropped down onto his shoulder and squeezed lightly. Castiel stepped in front of him and met his gaze. "Are you okay? Is this too much for you?"

"No. No, it's fine," Dean muttered, finally blinking and looking away. He shoved trembling hands into the pocket of his jacket. He'd been convinced for years that if the collar and cuffs ever came off, he would take someone's head off no questions asked. But he didn't feel the slightest urge to attack anyone, just a sense of terror that he would.

So was this just a fluke or was John wrong after all? Maybe he was only a danger to other people around the full moon. Or maybe he had to be angry, or upset, for the carnage to happen.

He trailed behind Castiel without speaking, letting him lead the way to the Roadhouse. It turned out to be a pub that was only about a ten minute walk away from the house. A little run down, but the parking lot was jammed full. Castiel strode across the pavement with confidence, elbowing the door open and moving aside to let Dean walk in behind him. The inside was every bit as crammed as the outside, with people occupying pretty much every stool in sight.

His stomach tightened a little. Being outside in the fresh air was one thing, but this place had too many people for comfort. He'd never been claustrophobic before, God knew he'd spent more hours in pubs and bars trying to track down a lead than anyone, but this was different. This was where Castiel lived and worked, and Dean could really screw things up for him and Gabriel if he couldn't keep himself under control.

He stuck close to Castiel as they made their way over to the bar, following him behind it automatically. The woman standing there raised an eyebrow. "Uh, you do know that only employees are allowed back here, right?" she asked.

"What?" Dean said, honestly confused. It only hit him then that he was standing behind the bar and he winced. "Shit, sorry, I -"

"He's with me, Jo," Castiel said, and again he put his hand on Dean's shoulder, this time to keep him from leaving. "This is Dean. He's been staying with me and Gabriel."

"Lemme guess, Gabriel and Kali are at home tonight," Jo said, wrinkling her nose.

Castiel grimaced. "You guessed it."

"Well, I can't blame you for not wanting to stick around to watch that disaster unfold," Jo said to Dean. She looked him up and down. "Mom's been looking for you, Cas. If Dean knows how to dry glasses, he can stay out here with me while you run and talk to her."

"Thanks Jo," Castiel said. He shot a look at Dean before he stepped away, and even though Dean wasn't sure what it meant he still felt warmed by it. He tracked Castiel's progress down the length of the bar and through a metal door at the end. The door swinging shut felt a little like a physical blow - it shouldn't have, but it did. He turned back to Jo slowly.

She grinned. "You don't have to look so terrified. I'm not gonna eat you..." She trailed off and again, deliberately looked him up and down. This time her gaze was slower and a lot more thorough. "Though I could if you wanted me to."

"Right," Dean said with a weak smile, feeling heat rise in his cheeks. Like he'd ever be able to have sex again. Heightened emotions meant that there was more of a risk of hurting someone, and without the collar and cuffs he would never be able to take that risk. Not that it really mattered, since he didn't enjoy sex anyway. It was hard to have fun when you were constantly concentrating on keeping yourself from getting too wound up. He only did it to get information, usually at John's insistence. 

She gave him a weird look and threw a towel at him before pointing to the overflowing sink. "Here. All of those have to be dried before the evening rush comes in."

It was better than sitting out on the crowded floor and wondering when someone would touch him the wrong way or make some sort of comment. He picked up the first glass and dried it thoroughly, keeping on an eye on the door in case Castiel came back through it. He didn't really think that Castiel would leave without him, but it wouldn't have been the first time he'd been left to find his own way home and he was ashamed to admit he hadn’t paid enough attention during the walk for that.

Jo bustled around him, filling the orders of anyone who came up to the bar, and it didn't take him long to realize that she had a quirky sense of humor - but she also put up with very little bullshit. The first guy who tried to hit on her was made aware pretty quickly that she wasn't interested. Once he'd slunk away with his tail between his legs, Dean couldn't resist clearing his throat.

"You're pretty good at that," he said, keeping his gaze on the glass in his hands. He was almost finished with the pile waiting to be dried, but more glasses had been added to the dirty pile by a busser. He wondered if she would expect him to jump in and clean them next.

"You gotta be when you’re a girl and you work in a pub," Jo replied, leaning against the counter and wiping her hand across her forehead. "There's too many jerks out there that don't know how to take no for an answer. They see a hot girl working behind the bar and think that she's automatically up for grabs. Some of them don't even bother to make sure that I'm legal."

"That sucks."

"Tell me about it. Fortunately my mom backs us up when we have problems. See that?" Jo nodded over his shoulder.

Dean turned to look. His eyes widened a little. "Is that a shotgun?"

"Pride and joy of my mom, and believe me she's not afraid to use it." Jo tossed a smirk over her shoulder as she sauntered down the bar, leaving Dean staring at the shotgun. True to what Jo had said, it looked pretty well cared for. He could tell that it had been recently cleaned and oiled. Suddenly he was glad that he hadn't reacted to Jo's attempt at flirting.

Once he was done with the glasses, he did move on to washing. There was something soothing about being behind the bar instead of in front of it, and there was a never ending stream of dishes to be cleaned. Apparently back in the kitchen they had dishwashers, but out front dishes were done the old-fashioned way. He put his head down and focused on washing one glass after the other for a long time. 

The Roadhouse did excellent business, but Dean noticed that there seemed to be a certain kind of clientele. It wasn't all guys, there were definitely some women mixed in with the crowd, but it was about 70% male. Most of them were younger, probably about Dean's age and up to mid-thirties, although there were some older guys that had laid siege to a table by the back corner and were consuming a steady supply of beer and whiskey.

He wondered what they were talking about. It looked like some of the younger people were listening in on the conversation, and it had to be pretty enthralling judging from the expression on their faces. One guy in particular, a dark-skinned man with short hair, was waving his glass of beer around as he talked. But he always made sure to keep his voice pitched low enough that not even Dean, with his superior hearing, could hear what he was saying. It was frustrating.

He only realized after he dipped his hands back into the now cold water how long he'd been staring, and he felt his ears grow hot as he let the sink empty so that it could be refilled. John had taught him better than that. Where had all of those careful lessons gone? The hours having the art of subterfuge drilled into him? He leaned wearily against the counter, watching the water drain. He hadn't noticed how exhausted he was until that moment.

"Whoa." Jo caught his arm when he wavered while trying to straighten up. "If I didn't know better I'd say you got into the alcohol when I wasn't looking."

"I didn't."

"I know. I'd be able to smell it on your breath. C'mere." She practically dragged him down the bar. There was a small table just to the right of it where no one was sitting and Jo pushed him down into the chair. "Stay. Sit. You look like you're gonna collapse."

Dean wanted to argue – he was getting tired of people pushing him around - but she was gone before he had the chance to open his mouth. He scowled at the spot where she'd been, because now that he was sitting it was like his body was taking the opportunity to send up the white flag. This was more exercise than he'd had in days, and now he was paying for it. He felt nauseous and sweaty, his throat tight and hands shaky.

Jo came back briefly and slammed a glass of amber liquid on the table before she was gone again. Dean sighed, watching as she snagged one of the waitresses to man the bar before disappearing through the door where Castiel had gone. He glanced down at the glass and picked it up, surprised and relieved to find that it was just ginger ale. He took a couple of cautious sips. His stomach kept churning for a minute or two before reluctantly settling.

"Dean?"

He looked up. Castiel crossed the distance between them in what felt like seconds. He pressed a hand to Dean's forehead, checking his temperature. Dean tried to duck away, a little embarrassed, but Castiel only followed like the determined mother hen that he was.

"I'm fine, Cas, really," Dean said finally. "I just got a little dizzy."

"Because Jo said you were standing in front of the sink for hours washing dishes. Honestly, Dean." Castiel made a face at him and let his hand drop. "I didn't bring you here to work."

"I lost track of time, that's all."

Castiel frowned. "I'm getting you something to eat. You're very warm, and you look awful."

"Gee, thanks," Dean muttered. It was a good thing his pride wasn't easily wounded. He slumped back in his chair as Castiel flagged Jo down and talked to her for a few moments. He could've listened, but the room was still spinning a little bit. It was easier to close his eyes and just sit.

He jumped when a plate clattered onto the table right in front of him. Jo swung herself down into the third chair. "So how did you end up staying with Cas and Gabe?" she asked, looking super curious. "I mean, you actually seem kind of cool. Usually Cas is about as anti-social as people get, and Gabe's an idiot who attracts other idiots in spades."

"Jo," Castiel scolded. 

Dean hid a smile as he picked up his burger. It was huge, covered in a mountain of lettuce, bacon, cheese, tomatoes and onion rings with a side of crispy fries, and if his belly had a tail it would've been wagging. "I got to talking with a friend of a friend, I guess," he lied, the words coming out smoothly. "And when I got hurt on a job, he suggested that I come here and stay with Cas and Gabriel for a little while."

Jo stared at him for several seconds with narrowed eyes. Finally, right as Dean took a huge bite of his burger, she said, "So you're a hunter, and you fucked up and got your ass carted to someone who wouldn't ask too many questions."

He choked. Castiel swore and reached over to thump him on the back. "Jo, what is the matter with you? You know better than to come right out and say something like that."

"Sorry," Jo said, though she didn't sound too apologetic. "You are a hunter, though, right?"

"Yeah," Dean said once he'd stopped coughing. His throat ached and he set his burger down to pick up the water that had mysteriously appeared on the table. "Or at least, I was." He stared down into the water. He’d been trying not to think about whether he wanted to keep hunting. It was the only life he knew, but it would be fundamentally different without John and there was something very unsettling about that. 

Judging from the way Jo jumped, Castiel had probably just kicked her under the table. He looked up in time to see her glaring at Castiel before she turned to him again. “My dad was a hunter. I wanted to be one, too, but my mom threw a fit.”

The skin on the back of his neck prickled. He and John had never had much contact with hunters. He wasn’t sure how to feel about sitting at the table with one now. “It’s a hard way of life. Dangerous.”

“Nah. I have it on good word that all werewolves are puppies just like Castiel.” Jo grinned, and for the second time that night Dean choked.

“Jo,” Castiel sighed, patting Dean's back again. 

“What?”

“You know?” Dean coughed out, staring between the two of them.

Jo looked a little bewildered. “Why wouldn’t I? It’s not like it’s a secret.”

Okay. Dean was officially lost.

It must have shown on his face, because Castiel sighed again. “There are certain communities in the U.S. where the supernatural have agreed to live in peace alongside humans,” he told Dean. “So long as we don’t kill or hurt anyone, no one will hunt us.”

Dean was speechless. He’d never heard of such a thing. For years John had pounded it into his head that no supernatural creature could be trusted, that all of them – Dean included – were just monsters waiting for the right opportunity to pounce. Certainly he’d never heard of a place where a werewolf could openly walk the street without being concerned that a hunter might come up behind him and shoot him in the back of the head. That’s what John would’ve done, supposed peace treaty or not.

“You see that girl over there?” Jo said, and he turned automatically to look. “That’s Glinda. She’s a fairy. The girl beside her is Charlie, her human partner. The couple next to them are vampires. To their right is a succubus. Those idiots in the back are all hunters, either passing through or retired.”

“That’s…” Dean trailed off as he glanced around the bar with new eyes. At first glance, everyone looked so _normal_. Charlie and Glinda were exchanging lazy kisses. The vampires were smiling into each other’s eyes. He put his burger down, the earlier queasiness returning. 

“Are you okay?” Castiel asked, watching him intently.

“Actually, I think I’d like to go if you’re done with your shift.”

“I’ll get you takeout containers,” Jo said, jumping up. 

Dean was very quiet on the way home. He knew that Castiel was a little concerned about him, but he couldn’t figure out a way to voice the thoughts going through his mind. And even if he had, he wasn't sure he should.

Mary Winchester had died in a fire caused by a ghost when Dean was about four years old and his little brother was six months old. Their family had only been living in their new house for a few months when it happened. Now, knowing the signs of a haunting, Dean knew that there had been warnings: cold spots, Sammy waking up crying with fresh bruises on his skin, the puppy they tried to bring into the house barking constantly until the night it ran away, things mysteriously moving. They just hadn’t known enough to heed them. 

After his wife’s death, John was determined to figure out what really happened. He’d seen the ghost of a young woman that night when he ran up to the nursery to try and save Mary, though the police believed that he was traumatized and remembering things wrong. Hallucinations from fire were not uncommon, but John refused to accept that. He started researching both the supernatural and the history of the house and getting into contact with other hunters, refusing to give up until he knew exactly why and how Mary had died and how he was going to avenge her death.

But even that wasn’t enough.

At the age of five years old, Dean attended his first salt and burn. He’d stood beside the Impala, where Sammy was sleeping, and watched as his dad dug up the grave of a girl in the local Lawrence cemetery. According to what John found, the girl had been trapped in her room by her mother and, when the house burned down that night because of faulty wiring, she died because she couldn’t get out. 

When the shell of that old house had eventually been torn down and a new one built in its place, her restless spirit began to haunt it. Most owners left before it ever came to a fire, and the place was known in Lawrence for being haunted. It was a fact that the real estate agent had conveniently left out.

John salted the body and burned it. His eyes had looked black in the bright, orangey firelight. And from that moment on, John Winchester became a hunter. He traveled the country with his two sons, taking down every supernatural creature that the three of them came across. He built a false trunk in the Impala and loaded it with every weapon that you could think of. It didn’t seem to matter to him that he’d destroyed the ghost that killed Mary. No matter how many creatures he put down, it was never enough. 

And after Sammy died, John’s drive for vengeance had only gotten worse. He was determined to completely eradicate that which had killed his child and his wife. Maybe, Dean couldn’t help reflecting as he slipped into Castiel’s bed that night and pulled the sheets over his head, it was a surprise that John hadn’t died before now. As skilled a hunter as he’d been, some of his actions were downright reckless. The longer he and Dean hunted together, the more he came to depend on Dean to be strong enough, _good_ enough to defeat whatever they were facing.

That was the thing that Dean had never been able to understand. In his worst moments, torn between being the good little soldier Sammy used to accuse him of being and someone who wanted to just run away, he didn’t get why John had let him live. He was a werewolf. A supernatural creature that would only hurt someone in the end. So why did John keep him around? What was the difference between Dean and the rest of what they hunted down?

He only just barely got out of bed the next day. The rest of the week was no better. Every attempt at conversation from Gabriel and Castiel was met with mumbled, monotone responses. The worry in their faces just made him feel even worse. How could they be this concerned about him, a complete stranger? He tried to pretend that he didn’t notice, but it was a relief whenever Castiel had to leave for the Roadhouse or was preoccupied with his online classes and Gabriel was already either at work or out on a date. 

During those times, he stayed buried in the blankets of Castiel’s bed, his head literally aching with all of the confusing thoughts running through his head. In spite of everything, he had never questioned John very much. He was willing to accept that he was a danger to the world, that if he wasn’t kept under literal lock and key he would kill someone – not could, _would_ , because all supernatural creatures were cut from the same cloth. He’d enjoyed working as a hunter and hadn’t second-guessed the hunts that John picked for them.

But now there was Castiel, who had never once shown himself to be dangerous in any way. He’d taken care of Dean, spending countless hours with him even though he didn’t have to. He was sarcastic and long-suffering with a good sense of humor, he was loyal and loved burgers and put up with his brother, he liked Harry Potter better than Lord of the Rings and didn’t like orange juice and had an unhealthy obsession with coffee, especially when he was doing schoolwork. Castiel was human in every way that mattered.

Dean tried to imagine Castiel or Gabriel losing their tempers and hurting someone. It was hard. Neither of them seemed like they were capable of that. But he also knew that John would’ve killed Castiel, and Gabriel, without thinking twice. Even without proof that either one of them had ever hurt or killed anything or even had the slightest desire to, because as far as John was concerned all supernatural creatures, werewolves included, were just bombs waiting to go off and it was better to cut them off before that happened.

The sinking of the mattress beside him stirred him from his heavy thoughts. He hadn’t realized how late it was getting and he whined in protest as the blanket was gently but firmly tugged out of his hands, letting in a blast of surprisingly cold air. Castiel slid underneath, lying down so that their faces were mere inches apart, and tucked the blankets back up around them. Dean wanted to make some kind of joke about personal space, but the sadness in Castiel’s blue eyes stopped him.

“Dean.”

It was all he said, just one word, but somehow it was more than enough. Even blinking hard wasn’t enough to stop the tears stinging his eyes, and Castiel’s face blurred into a smear. He just didn’t _understand_. As long as John was there he’d been able to shove away the confusion and the doubt and just follow orders, but now John was gone and Dean didn’t know what to do anymore. 

Castiel scooted even closer and hugged him, letting Dean’s cheek rest on his chest. Dean clung to him in a way he’d never clung to anyone, his arms around Castiel’s waist and hands fisted desperately in the back of his shirt. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t have been able to let go. His body trembled uncontrollably as he wept.

Through it all, Castiel never said a word. He kept Dean pressed against him with one hand while the other rubbed a slow path up and down Dean’s back, fingers digging in with just the right amount of pressure. It had been a very long time since anyone had done that for him. He remembered doing it for Sammy during those late nights before their dad returned from a hunt, but Dean was pretty sure the last time anyone had touched him so kindly was when Mary was alive. 

Mary Winchester had been a tactile woman, always scooping him up and spinning him around. In the morning, she would wake him up by petting his hair. At night, she would lie down next to him and send him off to sleep while doing the same. When they went out shopping, she’d carry him on her hip or her back – or later, when she became pregnant with Sammy, she held his hand. He used to sit on her lap to watch television and be lifted up to the counter to help bake and feel her hands on his back when she pushed him on the swing.

John wasn’t like that at all. Even before his wife’s death, he wasn’t the sort of father to be overly affectionate. After Mary’s death, it got a lot worse. Dean was the one who changed Sammy’s diapers and fed him and rocked him when he cried. And after Sam’s death? Forget it. Dean was fortunate if John looked at him, never mind touched him. In John’s eyes he was a tainted monster who didn’t even deserve to be alive, and John didn’t hesitate to let him know that.

He cried harder, thinking about his baby brother. Sammy hadn't deserved that. He was – had been – a stubborn little shit, but he was also easily the smartest of all of them. Dean had lost count of how many times he'd wished that he could change what happened that day, if only because he would’ve rather died with his brother than be left behind with John. Nothing about this situation was fair, and the worst thing of all was that it was completely Dean’s fault.

\--

Dean was hysterical, and Castiel was getting more concerned by the minute. 

It wasn’t exactly surprising that Dean was finally breaking down. Castiel might not have had much luck interacting with people, but even he’d been able to see that Dean had been walking a fine line for probably for most of his life. Even Gabriel had stopped to speak to his brother on his way out of the apartment that night. He normally didn't take anything seriously, which meant his expression was even more alarming as he warned Castiel to watch Dean carefully. 

Now Castiel understood why. He cradled the sobbing pup as closely as he could and felt useless as he rubbed Dean’s back. Dean had been crying for several minutes but he showed no sign of slowing down, breath hitching with whimpers every time he tried. Considering that he had a lifetime’s worth of neglect and possible abuse to make up for, he might well have been capable of crying for hours yet. But his body was still weak and Castiel didn’t need a medical background to know exactly how dangerous that could be.

“Dean,” he murmured, lowering his head so that he could speak directly in Dean’s ear. “Hush, it’s okay. I know you’re confused and hurting, but you have to try to calm down. At least talk to me. Maybe there’s something I can do to help.”

After a few more choked sobs Dean shook his head, his fingers flexing in Castiel’s shirt like he was worried Castiel might try to move away. Fat chance of that happening. Finally, though, Dean managed to speak between sniffles. “C-can’t help, C-Cas. Not unless you c-can ch-change the p-past.”

“I’m afraid I can’t, though for you I would if I could,” Castiel said honestly. It scared him a little how quickly he was falling for Dean, but there was just something about this pup – this wonderful, fragile pup who had suffered so much – that called to him. The protective instinct thrumming through him was going crazy, demanding that he find and terminate the source of Dean’s distress. But when the problem was one’s own mind, poisoned from years of cruelty, it wasn’t quite that easy.

He stopped the motion of his hand on Dean’s back and instead moved up to his hair, gently combing through the strands. He suspected, and Gabriel confirmed, that Dean had never changed before. He wondered how traumatizing and terrifying it would be for the change to happen. Would Dean come through with his mind intact, or would he snap under the pressure? Castiel wasn't sure he wanted to find out, but soon it wouldn't be an option.

“The death of your brother was not your fault, Dean,” he whispered. “And your father was wrong to do what he did.”

Dean tensed. “H-how did you…?”

“It wasn’t difficult to put the clues together. You mentioned your father was a hunter, and it was the only reason I could figure out as to why you would willingly allow someone to collar you.” Though this was _Dean_ , who seemed to think that he was going to fly into a rage and kill someone at any moment without the collar and cuffs. He might let someone else do it now, but that kind of conditioning had been started early by someone very close to him.

It was a pity that Dean’s father was already dead. Castiel would have thoroughly enjoyed killing the man for everything that he had done to his son.

“He had to,” Dean said, his voice a little stronger now. “Cas, I’m a monster.”

“You’re a werewolf. The two are not synonymous no matter what your father said. Dean, he never even gave you a chance. He had no proof that you were going to hurt someone.”

“He was a hunter –”

“A very close-minded hunter,” Castiel interrupted, because he didn’t think he could lie here and listen to Dean make excuses. “I’ve had my fair share of meals with hunters at the Roadhouse. Most of them know that I’m a werewolf. It’s not something I try to hide. Very few of them have ever tried to attack me, and those that did were swiftly taken care of.” He hid a smile. The image of a severely pissed Ellen Harvelle bearing down on a 6’2, muscled man with her shotgun was not one to be forgotten anytime soon.

“I bet none of them lost a wife to a ghost and a son to a werewolf.”

“You would be wrong.”

Dean’s tears had dried and he was starting to calm now. He tipped his head back and looked at Castiel suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

“Most hunters have lost someone at one time or another,” Castiel told him, thinking of Bobby. Of Jo and Ellen. Of Rufus. Of the countless hunters who had stories of pain, of loss, of betrayal. “Not all of them react like your father did.”

“Not all of them were left with a fuck up of a son, either,” Dean muttered. He no doubt meant it to be a comment meant for his ears alone, but Castiel heard it and it enraged him.

Before he could stop himself, he rolled them both over and pinned Dean under him. The look of astonishment on Dean’s face would’ve been amusing under any other circumstances; he obviously wasn’t used to anyone being strong enough to pin him down, let alone someone who was actually a little shorter than he was. And an ordinary human wouldn’t have been able to. But Castiel had had years to learn exactly how to use his abilities to his advantage.

“Listen to me. You are _not_ a fuck up. You are _not_ a monster. It was _not_ your fault that Sam died. You were a child, Dean, and you did not deserve what your father did to you. If he couldn’t tolerate having you around because of his own personal demons, than he should have left you with a pack. No pack would’ve treated you so poorly.”

“I’m fine.”

“You almost died. That is not fine.”

“He thought he was doing the right thing,” Dean said stubbornly, but the look on his face said that he knew how weak the excuse sounded.

Castiel sighed. Werewolves were a loyal bunch by nature, but Dean was taking it to the extreme. Frustrating as it was, Castiel understood at least partly. How many years had he spent reluctant to leave his own pack, even though he’d been completely miserable? Even after he’d found his way to Gabriel, there were times when he wondered if he’d done the wrong thing. If maybe he should return and take the place in the pack that Michael had planned for him. Gabriel had always stopped him, but without that support Castiel didn't know what he might have done.

It had to be so much harder for Dean, who had been without anyone who loved or even cared about him for years. Dean truly thought that he didn’t deserve any kind of consideration. It was painful to see how amazed he was whenever Castiel did something for him, whether it was a simple as bringing him home food from the Roadhouse or leaving him a set of clothes in the bathroom while he showered. He hadn’t even left his father willingly, would no doubt still be there if Benny hadn’t intervened.

Thank god for Benny. Castiel had never thought those words before, but he meant them now with all his heart. He ducked his head, pressing his nose in against the curve of Dean’s neck. Dean shivered but tipped his head back automatically, a gesture of submission that made a thrill run through him. He inhaled deeply and his nose flooded with the scent of Dean. 

This was comforting for wolves and it had nothing to do with whether or not he had a more than platonic interest in Dean. Some of his fondest memories of his pack involved being at the bottom of what was affectionately known as a puppy pile. There was just something inherently good about feeling that weight pressed close and knowing it belonged to family. To pack. He figured it was something that Dean hadn’t had for a long time. Too long.

And if it was a little bit for himself too, well, Castiel had never claimed that he wasn’t selfish. It had been years since he’d had a puppy pile, as his pack tended to dismiss the idea as childish after a certain age. He and Gabriel curled up together sometimes, especially during the full moon, but it wasn’t the same. Dean was so warm underneath him and even though he was tense, Castiel could recognize the yearning in those green eyes. He was confident that Dean wanted this and so much more.

“You’re not alone anymore,” he said softly, and Dean actually gasped. Castiel pulled back to meet his eyes, and what he saw there gave him the strength to say, “Whatever happened to you, it doesn’t have to be that way anymore. I had to learn that lesson myself.”

“What do you mean?” Dean was relaxing now, the tension flowing out of his body as he understood that Castiel hadn't pinned him down with the intent to hurt him. Castiel released his grip on Dean’s forearms and intertwined their fingers instead, a little surprised that Dean allowed him to do so. It hadn’t taken long for Dean’s dislike of what he called "chick flick moments" to make itself known.

“I grew up in a traditional pack, meaning that we lived as far away from humans as possible. We had gardens to grow fruits and vegetables and cattle and chickens for meat. For the things that we couldn’t easily make, like flour or soap, once a month Samandriel and Hester would go to the nearest city to buy. Our pack alpha was my oldest brother Michael. He was adamant that none of us have any exposure to the outside world.”

“Wow,” Dean said. “That explains why you’re so…” He trailed off and Castiel smirked.

“I’ve never dealt well with people, Dean. Even then Gabriel was the total opposite of me. Living in the village was like torture for him, especially when Michael decided that he was going to mate with Zachariah.”

“Zachariah?”

“Old, balding, and an absolute asshole,” Castiel said flatly. “Basically Gabriel’s worst nightmare. Zachariah had spent years sucking up to Michael, though, so it was only a matter of time before he got what he wanted.”

“He,” Dean repeated, eyebrows drawing together.

“Yes, Dean.”

“Do, uh, werewolves often… you know… with the same sex?”

“It happens, particularly when the pack is doing well and pups aren’t a necessity,” Castiel said, delighted to see that Dean was blushing. “Gabriel was furious, but openly going against Michael was not a good idea. One of our cousins had done so and was cast out, forbidden from ever returning. So he left.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“No. Leaving because you choose to go is different from being thrown out, even though it might not seem like it at first. Either way I thought Gabriel was crazy, and when he asked me to come with him I said no. I didn’t understand that he saw something in me… It wasn’t until I was in my late teens and Michael decided I was going to mate with Meg that I started to get it.”

Whether he noticed it or not, Dean’s thighs had spread to allow Castiel space between them, and there was a hint of jealousy in his voice when he said, “Who’s Meg?”

“She was one of my friends. We grew up together, and she was… a little wild. Always trying to push the boundaries. I think Michael hoped that a mating between us would settle her down. But I wasn’t interested in her that way. She was my friend, yes. But I didn't feel that way for her. I wanted to mate with Balthazar.” He sighed. “Unfortunately by that point, there was a need for pups and I knew I had to give in for the betterment of the pack. I was prepared to do the right thing.”

Dean stared up at him for a moment, eyes narrowed. “What happened?”

“Meg killed herself.”

“Holy shit,” Dean said.

Castiel tried to smile, but that was easier said than done. Thinking about Meg was still painful. “To this day, I’m not sure why. I don’t know if it’s because she was angry about the mating, or because she knew I didn’t really want it, or... I don't know. She didn’t leave a note. Needless to say, Michael was furious that one of his carefully laid plans had been messed up. He came to me the very next day and told me that he had already selected a new mate for me and that we would still be going through with the ceremony."

“Jesus, Dude, your brother is an asshole.” Dean squeezed Castiel’s hands hard in a bid for comfort. 

“Yes, he is. I knew I couldn’t stick around after that. Fortunately, Balthazar and Samandriel helped me. It turned out that Samandriel had kept in touch with Gabriel. They packed me up and put me on a bus, and Gabriel met me on the other end when I got off. I was messed up for a long time after that, conflicted between loyalty to the pack and what I had been taught and outside influences that were telling me that was all wrong.”

Dean stilled at that. “So was all that just some weird way of telling me you know what it’s like?”

“I consider it proof that I do,” Castiel replied, hoping that Dean wouldn’t realize he’d skipped over some parts of the story. He didn’t want to talk about Balthazar. “And you should know that even now there are days when I still struggle. Things like that never really let you go.”

There was a long pause. Dean looked at him and Castiel looked back, not sure what Dean was searching for but hoping that he would find it. Finally, Dean muttered, “Then what do you do?”

“You work through them as best you can. You find new friends and family and you depend on them to support you while you do it. You have to build a new life for yourself, Dean. It’s up to you to decide what that life involves. Maybe you want to continue hunting. Or maybe you don’t. That’s your choice. But please don’t let this make you stop living altogether.”

“What if I want my life to include you?”

His heart skipped a beat. Castiel swallowed. It was amazing how Dean could simultaneously be so confident but have no self-esteem. He pushed aside the thoughts swarming through his head and just said, “If that’s what you want, I’m amenable to the idea. You certainly don’t have to leave anytime soon. I enjoy your company.”

Dean sighed and closed his eyes. “Yeah. Shit, I need a drink.”

“Oh. I think Gabriel has beer in the refrigerator.”

“Sold,” Dean said with a crooked little grin that made Castiel want to kiss him. He suppressed the urge. They had gone a very long way tonight. Further than Castiel had guessed they would. He didn’t want to ruin the progress now by going too far. He eased his weight off of Dean and stood up, looking down at Dean in his bed. All that freckle-kissed skin against his plain sheets… that was an image that would stay with him for a long time.

\--

Taking a break from hunting sounded like a good idea, even if he had no idea how long he wanted the break to last for. But he couldn’t just keep lazing around on the sofa all day, eating Castiel’s and Gabriel’s food while they went to work. He was feeling stronger with every passing day, but he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. Hunting was really all that he knew, and he couldn’t imagine working at the Roadhouse or any other job where he ran the risk of meeting a hunter face to face. Dean wasn’t sure he would be able to handle that yet.

He spent a lot of time taking long drives in the Impala all by himself, learning the ins and outs of Madison. Being in his baby was surprisingly comforting and that was a relief. The first time he’d come down to check on the car, he’d been a little bit worried that he would associate it with John. And he did. But the Impala was also Sammy, and it had been _home_ for as long as Dean could remember. Even his blanket and pillow were still in the backseat.

Castiel finally sat him down one morning and they had a long talk about what Dean could do – pitifully little, as far as Dean was concerned. So he was shocked when Castiel came home from the Roadhouse with a big grin on his face. Dean hadn’t been back to the pub since that first day and he wondered immediately what could have happened to make Castiel so happy. 

“Get dressed,” Castiel said, tossing a bag at him. Dean just barely managed to catch it. His reflexes were shit lately. Since the collar had come off, it was like he was having to relearn everything as all of his suppressed instincts surged to the surface. 

“What’s wrong with what I have on?” he asked, frowning. He’d found his duffle in the Impala’s trunk. His clothing – two pairs of jeans, three plaid over-shirts, half a dozen t-shirts, and a suit for when he needed to pose as an FBI agent – was still in good condition as far as he was concerned.

“They’re old.”

Dean bristled. “No they’re not.”

Castiel just stared at him and Dean scowled. Okay, so many his jeans were pretty much threadbare in some places. And all of his shirts were patched in several different places. But John had dressed in pretty much the same way. He’d never seen the point in wasting money on clothing when that money could be used as gas for the Impala or supplies for hunting – or later, for more booze – and he’d expected Dean to have the same attitude. 

After John’s reaction the first time Dean had used the money he earned hustling for something without permission, Dean hadn’t done it again.

Something in Castiel’s face softened a little. “I didn’t mean it as an insult. But you have a job interview, and even though Bobby doesn’t dress particularly fancy I’m not sure he’d appreciate the holes in your jeans.”

“There aren’t any holes in my jeans,” Dean muttered, right before his brain caught up with the rest of that sentence. “Wait, what? A job interview?”

“Yes.”

“Cas, I can’t –”

“Yes, you can. Bobby runs the garage around here,” Castiel said firmly. “He’s the local mechanic, but he also works on restoring old cars. I think you would be perfect for the job and he’s willing to have a chat with you. We can take the Impala so that you have an example as to what you can do.”

“My dad re-built the Impala, not me,” Dean said. It felt weird to call John his dad. That had been trained out of him a long time ago.

“But you keep it running. I’ve seen how you are when you’re under the hood of that car. Dean, I know you can do this. I thought you would be pleased. Bobby can be an asshole sometimes, but he’s a good man and you’ll like him. You won’t have much interaction with people if you don’t want to, and you love working on cars. The garage isn’t that far away from the Roadhouse and -”

“Okay, okay,” Dean said, holding his hands up. He couldn’t stand there and have Castiel look at him so earnestly, with those huge blue eyes. Not when the guy had gone so far out of his way for Dean already. The least he could do was show up to the damn interview. He squashed the voice in the back of his head that whispered that Castiel would finally see he was a screw up when he failed.

“Good. Now get dressed.”

Dean obeyed, relieved to find that Castiel had gone for simple: a nice pair of dark blue jeans and a green shirt. It was comfortable instead of fancy and probably hadn’t cost too much, all of which helped to steady his nerves a little. Settling in the driver’s seat of the Impala helped more, but it all came rushing back the second he parked outside of the garage.

It wasn’t really what Dean had expected. Built on a surprisingly large plot of land, the garage looked a little on the rundown side. But what really drew the eye was the house about fifty feet away. It was kinda run down too, but that was hard to even notice when there were tons of old, junked out cars heaped around. At a glance he could tell most, if not all, of them wouldn’t be road worthy, which meant they were most likely used for spare parts. Some of them would’ve been pretty awesome at one time, though.

Castiel swung himself gracefully out of the Impala and started walking towards the garage. Dean caught up to him, his heart pounding triple time. He found himself wondering if Castiel had disclosed his _condition_ yet. Would this Bobby be interested in hiring him if he knew that Dean was a werewolf? What would he do if Bobby didn’t know? No matter what Castiel said about the humans in the town knowing about the supernatural, Dean was having a hard time believing it.

The door swung open and Dean instantly froze, hardly able to believe his eyes. Castiel hadn’t mentioned Bobby’s last name. Maybe he should’ve been able to put the clues together on his own, but there had to be more than one Bobby out there who loved cars. What were the chances that the one he would run into was Bobby Singer, who didn’t look much different than the last time that Dean had seen him right before Sammy was killed?

Up until that point, John and Bobby had actually been pretty good friends. Shocking, considering that John had made it a point not to get on with anyone. Dean and Sammy had spent a lot of time at Bobby’s house while John went on hunts in the area. That all stopped cold after Sammy died. John had explained to him in very explicit detail what Bobby would do if they went back and Bobby found out he was a werewolf, and it had scared Dean so badly that he never again thought about contacting the man.

He could feel his breath coming faster as panic lanced through him. Fight or flight should have kicked in but instead Dean couldn’t move, not even when Bobby’s eyes landed on him and he saw the spark of recognition followed by suspicion. 

“Hi Bobby,” Castiel said with a smile. “This is Dean…” He trailed off, frowning, and then turned to Dean. “What is your last name, anyway?”

“Winchester,” Bobby growled. 

“You know him?” Castiel said, looking confused.

Bobby didn’t answer, just clumped down the steps and strode towards Dean. Never mind running, Dean couldn’t breathe. It didn’t _look_ like Bobby had a gun with silver bullets or a silver knife on him, but Dean was well versed in all the places hunters could hide weapons. And even if he didn’t, he knew damn well Bobby was skilled with his hands. They were large hands too, coated in a layer of grease, and Dean wondered how they would feel around his throat –

When Bobby got to him and lifted those hands, Dean flinched. 

It was Bobby’s turn to freeze. He studied Dean’s face and then scowled. “Boy, stop being such a damn idjit,” he grumbled. “I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

There was no way he could talk when he still couldn’t breathe, and suddenly Castiel was right there beside him with a gentle arm around Dean’s shoulders and softly spoken reassurances. When he gulped in air his nose was flooded with Castiel’s scent, the same scent he’d been sleeping wrapped up in, and his body instantly started to calm. 

“Good,” Castiel whispered, running a hand through Dean’s hair. “That’s good, Dean. Just keep breathing. You’re okay. Bobby’s not going to hurt you. He knows that you’re a werewolf and he’s okay with that. You’re safe.”

Dean shook his head but didn’t speak, focusing on how good it felt to have air going into his lungs again. His legs were shaking and his face felt hot. He didn’t think he could walk, but Castiel’s support was enough to get him up the three steps and into the garage. There was a waiting room right inside and Castiel helped him to sit down on the couch, but he sat right beside Dean and didn’t let go and Dean was more thankful for that than for anything else.

It took a few minutes before his heart stopped racing and he stopped feeling like he was going to pass out, and when he lifted his head again he saw that he and Castiel were alone – but not for long. Bobby walked back in carrying three beers, one of which he practically forced into Dean’s hand. Dean hesitated, glancing over at Castiel. There was a sad look in Castiel’s eyes when he took a drink of his own beer, then handed it to Dean and took Dean’s beer for himself.

“I’m not lookin’ to poison you,” Bobby said, rolling his eyes. “Hell, we thought you were already dead.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked, putting the bottle to his lips. The liquid was cold and sharp and had a kinda sweet taste. Not what he normally enjoyed, but it went a long way towards clearing his head.

“We haven’t seen you in years, Dean! All of a sudden your daddy dropped off the grid and musta taken you with him. Wouldn’t answer his cell phone, didn’t stop by, and no one had heard anything from either one of you. I thought for sure that the two of you were goners, especially when Sam turned up and had no idea where you were.”

“Bobby…” Dean’s throat ached. Didn’t he know? “Sam’s dead.”

“What? No he’s not. Not unless he’s died since I saw him last week.”

Dean stared, feeling like his mind was having trouble computing that statement. “Sammy’s… alive?”

Bobby and Castiel exchanged a look. Then Bobby said, in what was a very gentle tone of voice for him, “Yeah. Why wouldn’t he be?”

“Because… Because he died when I was twelve.” Dean’s head was spinning as he tried to understand. “When the werewolf attacked us…”

“No, he didn’t,” said Castiel, and Dean turned to stare at him now. “Dean, I had no idea that the Sammy you mentioned was Sam Winchester. If I’d known, I would have told you.”

“He showed up on my doorstep about thirteen years ago,” Bobby added. “Kid said he’d been bitten by a werewolf and that he’d managed to get away. He had no idea what happened to you or John, but the reports of the crime scene were pretty bleak when I followed up. And after a while, when neither of you popped up again, we assumed that _you_ had died in the attack and your fool father got himself killed not much later.”

Sammy was alive. Somehow those words didn’t make sense no matter how often Dean repeated them. _Sammy was alive_. He still remembered waking up covered in blood, and the absolute certainty in his father’s face that Sammy was dead. For weeks afterwards John wouldn’t even let him say that name out loud. How could John have been so wrong? Why hadn’t he realized that Sammy was alive? Why hadn’t they looked harder instead of just dismissing him as gone?

He closed his eyes. “I want to – I need to see him.”

“I’ll call him.”

“Are you alright?” Castiel murmured as Bobby disappeared into the back room. “I’m so sorry. I never would have sprung this on you if I’d known…”

“You couldn’t have,” Dean said hoarsely. He’d deliberately shared as little of his past as possible and now he cursed himself for being so paranoid. If he’d at least told Castiel his last name earlier, Castiel might have put two and two together. But he hadn’t. John Winchester had killed a lot of creatures and left a lot of angry survivors in his wake, and deep down Dean was afraid that if Castiel recognized the name he would kick Dean out.

“Still.” Castiel’s arm was still around his shoulders, and he tightened it now. “This is a good thing, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess.”

“You don’t sound very sure.”

“I just… God, Cas, I was so _sure_ he was dead. I woke up and there was so much blood everywhere. I don’t know how he could have survived. It just made sense when John said he was dead, but I shouldn’t have believed him. I should’ve looked for him.” He rubbed a shaking hand over his face. He was so tired. He wanted to believe Bobby, but at the same time… he’d been living with this for so long that he didn’t dare just in case it turned out to not actually be true. 

“You were just a child, Dean. You couldn’t have known.”

“But I should have! Sammy was my responsibility. I shouldn’t have left him alone that night. I should’ve insisted that we look for him.”

“And how do you think your father would’ve taken that?” Castiel asked, and he sounded so angry that Dean went quiet and just looked at him. “He kept you locked up in a collar for years. A collar that was _killing_ you. Which would have killed you eventually, probably in the next year or two, if Gabriel’s guess is correct. How do you think he would’ve responded to you going against him in any way?”

Dean swallowed, the words making him cold inside. He knew how John would have reacted: he’d considered himself a captain, and captains didn’t take well to soldiers showing disobedience. When he was younger he had tried, a time or two. But even without Sammy, John had ways to keep him in line. He’d never forget the time John left him at a rundown motel in the middle of nowhere and drove away without him because Dean didn't want to move. 

Two completely miserable, terrifying days had followed before John came back for him. He’d only let Dean in the Impala after he made it perfectly clear that he only kept Dean around because he was somewhat useful, but that John’s word was - and always would be - law.

Seeing the stricken look on Dean’s face, Castiel softened a little. “You can’t punish yourself for this. I’ve met Sam before. He’s a good man, but he is also a werewolf. If you and your father had searched for him, Sam would have grown up just like you did.”

Jesus Christ. Dean shivered at the thought of Sammy, sweet little Sammy, being made to have sex with women for information or sleep in the back of the Impala because John didn’t trust him enough to let him sleep in the same room. He couldn’t. It never would have worked. 

“My only wish,” Castiel added in a quieter voice, now that they could hear Bobby’s footsteps returning, “is that your father had thought you were both dead so that you could have gotten away too.”

“I talked to Sam,” Bobby announced before Dean could respond – and maybe that was for the best, because Dean had no idea what he would have said. He crossed his arms and looked at Castiel and Dean for a couple seconds before he added, “He and his fiancée are making plans to come tomorrow. Jess was booking tickets as we spoke.”

“His fiancée?” Dean said blankly, turning his head to Bobby. This was just too much information coming at him from way too many directions. He needed a few minutes to just sit and absorb it all.

“Yep. Name’s Jess. Now, Sam won’t be here 'till tomorrow, so why don’t you show me if you’re as good with a car now as you used to be.”

“What?”

“You did come here for an interview,” Bobby said.

“Oh, right.” Dean had lost sight of that in the past few minutes, but Bobby was right. He quickly drained the rest of his beer and left the bottle behind as he trailed Bobby out into the main part of the garage. There were a handful of cars already out there, and Bobby directed him to a little Toyota. It wasn’t his preferred kind of car to work on, but at that moment he would’ve taken anything that had an engine: he desperately needed to focus on something he was good at.

He bent under the hood, noticing that the Toyota wasn’t in too bad a shape. But the oil needed to be changed and a few filters needed replacing and it all needed a thorough cleaning – he let his hands take over and his mind drift, falling into the rhythm of things he’d done a thousand times. As the years passed and John depended more on alcohol, Dean had taken over most of the Impala’s maintenance, usually working at night when John was passed out. If John had noticed or cared that he never had to do anything to the car anymore, he’d never said anything about it.

It didn’t take his thoughts long to circle back to the looming issue: Sammy - Sam now, apparently - was alive. All those years Dean had been tormenting himself for letting his little brother down, and Sam had been out there living his own life. Granted, he was apparently now a werewolf. But he was alive, and Dean couldn’t see his brother as a monster. Sam was too good for that. So maybe in this case (in a lot of cases, if he took Castiel and Gabriel into consideration), being a werewolf wasn’t the worst fate in the world.

And Castiel had said Sam was a good man. Dean wondered what he was like, if he was still obsessed with eating his veggies and riding in the backseat behind the passenger and not the driver, if he still whined the same way and had the same set of puppy eyes that could make Dean cave faster than anything else. God, though. He was also getting married. He had a fiancée. He wouldn’t be the same little kid that Dean remembered, the one who pretty much depended on Dean for everything.

Because what it came down to was that he hadn’t been there when Sam needed him the most. And frankly he wasn’t sure he wanted to think about what he would’ve done if Sam had ended up staying with them. Would John have treated Sam the same way? Would Dean have put up with it? He’d always been torn between the two of them, and even as a kid he’d dreaded the day when Sammy’s temper tantrums became enough of an issue that John wouldn’t just wave them off. He wanted to think he’d have chosen to do what was best for Sam, but he couldn’t be sure – and that bothered him.

He twisted the cap on the oil back into place and straightened up, swiping a hand across his sweaty forehead as he surveyed the engine. It looked a hell of a lot better now, though there was still some work to be done. It looked like the transmission was just about shot, but he wasn’t sure Bobby had a replacement so he left it alone. He looked around, surprised to see that there were a couple more mechanics in the garage now working on cars. Bobby was gone but Castiel was leaning against the wall, waiting patiently.

“All done?” he inquired when he saw Dean looking his way, walking over. His mouth twitched up into a smile. “You’ve got grease across your forehead.”

“Hazard of the job,” Dean said with a grin, surprised by how good it felt to smile. The past two months – god, the past thirteen years – had weighed on him heavily, but now maybe things were starting to turn around. He’d reserve judgment until he actually saw Sam and made sure it was really him, but even the flutter of hope was unexpectedly sweet.

Castiel tilted his head but made no comment, instead saying, “Bobby said that he would check your work later. He suggested that we head home for the night. Sam is going to arrive around 3pm tomorrow, and he wants to meet us at the Roadhouse. I wasn’t sure how you would feel about it.”

“That’s fine.”

“Are you sure?”

Dean caught his gaze and held it, the familiar shades of blue strangely comforting. “Yes. I mean, you’ll be there and Bobby is – was – a kickass hunter.” He hesitated, licking his lips. “And I guess… I believe you when you say that no one cares.”

“No, you don’t,” Castiel said. He lightly trailed his fingers down Dean’s arm, then squeezed his wrist. “But you will. I think Bobby said there’s a bathroom where you can wash your hands and face, and then we’ll go home.”

“Right.” Dean’s throat was strangely dry, the flesh of his arm alight with tingles as he turned and stumbled in the direction that Castiel had gestured in. He was almost glad to close the door behind him and occupy himself with scrubbing his hands with soap and hot water. Sometimes the way Castiel stared at him… and sometimes the way Dean felt when he stared… it was just too much to think about, not when he had the possibility of the biggest day of his life hanging over him.

He tried to push that all aside as he dried his hands and face and pulled the sleeves of his shirt back down. His clothing had gotten away mostly stain free and he was suddenly really glad that Castiel had thought to pick this up for him. He wouldn’t have liked meeting Sam in his old clothes and he didn't think he could face shopping beforehand. If he got the job with Bobby, he’d have to pay Castiel back with some of the money from his first paycheck – and then maybe set the rest aside for the security deposit on an apartment.

He paused right as he went to open the door, feeling a chill. For a minute there he’d let himself get wrapped up in what it might like to be to stay in Madison. To get an apartment and drive to work in his baby every day. To see Bobby. To live near Sam. To be able to drop by the Roadhouse at lunch or dinner and visit Castiel. It was the first time he had ever seriously contemplated settling down somewhere.

Could he do that? Could he let hunting go that easily? John would be spinning in his grave if he knew; he’d be furious that Dean was even _thinking_ of trying to play house like a human. And then there was the issue of the vampire that had killed John in the first place. Dean should be determined to hunt that fucker down and cleave his head off. He should be pissed and driven for revenge, the way that John had been. Any hunter worth their salt would have been.

“Dean?” The knock on the door and Castiel’s voice startled him badly. Dean jumped and swore, hastily opening the door.

“Sorry, Cas. Was a little messier than I thought,” he lied. “You ready?”

Castiel’s expression was curious but he didn’t ask questions, and that was one of the things Dean liked the most about him. It was so easy to just _be_ when they were together. He smiled at Castiel and pulled his keys from his pocket, leading the way back outside. Sliding back behind the driver’s seat of the Impala again was just as calming as before, even more so than working on that engine. 

He was antsy that night, restless. He couldn’t stop thinking about Sam. He needed a distraction, so he holed himself up in the kitchen with the one recipe book that Castiel and Gabriel owned and started to cook. It had been a long time since he'd had the chance to do this. John had never bothered to stop at the kind of motels that had a kitchen in the room, but every once in a while, for a case that would take more than a couple of days, he’d rented a shitty apartment instead. 

Dean savored those times, rare as they were. Some of his best memories of Mary came from sitting in the kitchen with her, watching as she cooked or baked. She’d even let him help, lifting him up so he could add ingredients or stir the bowl. It made him feel closer to her when he cooked, even though most of the time John would give him a look of utter contempt and mutter something about Dean being a sissy. Never stopped him from eating what Dean made, though, and Dean found the act of cooking soothing enough that it hadn't bothered him.

Tonight he stuck with something very simple, as the kitchen wasn’t exactly well stocked and most of the recipes in the book required more ingredients than he had on hand. There was pasta and tomatoes and mushrooms and peppers and garlic, and he diced up the vegetables and tossed them in the frying pan. He found an old spice rack shoved in the back of one of the cupboards and broke the seal on a couple of the bottles to add a light dusting of pepper and oregano and dried parsley. It started to smell good really quickly and it wasn’t long before Gabriel came nosing around.

“Don’t you dare,” Dean said without looking up, not needing to turn around to know that his sauce was seconds away from being tasted.

Gabriel pouted. “Is that how you talk to the guy who saved your life?”

Dean shot him a seriously unimpressed look and batted his hands away, reaching out to stir the sauce himself. “You’re not gonna starve in the next two minutes.”

“But I’m so hungry,” Gabriel moaned dramatically, collapsing to the floor.

“Gabriel, really,” Castiel said, poking his head in the room and rolling his eyes at his brother. “Dean, that smells wonderful.”

“Thanks Cas,” Dean muttered, blushing a little. He dipped a clean spoon into the sauce and held it out as an offering, warmed when Castiel immediately came closer. He didn’t take the spoon, preferring instead to lean in and slowly wrap his lips around the edge. Dean stared, captivated, at the sight of those lips sliding off.

“Oh, I see how it is,” Gabriel called from the floor, sounding entirely too amused. “Your savior can starve, but you’ll feed your boyfriend.”

“That’s not –” Dean could feel himself blushing even harder.

“If you weren’t so dramatic, maybe you would get fed more quickly,” Castiel said smoothly. “Now get up and set the table.”

Gabriel mumbled something about slave labor but obeyed as Dean took the pasta off, glad for the chance to let his face return to a somewhat more normal color. He carefully didn’t look at Castiel as he poured the pasta into a strainer, then doled it out onto the three plates and added vegetables and sauce. It looked pretty good, he had to admit, even if his appetite wasn’t really there.

Castiel noticed, of course. “Dean, you know you don’t have to go see Sam if you’re not ready.”

“You shouldn’t push yourself,” Gabriel added in what was an unusually serious moment. “I know you’re feeling better, and it’s not a bad idea for you to have a job with some simple physical activity, but really it will be at least a year or two before all the effects of the silver poisoning are gone. And you’ve only been recovering for a couple weeks. If you try to do too much, you’ll end up right back where you started – flat on your back and trapped in the bed ‘cause you’re too exhausted to do anything, and that’s only if you’re lucky.”

The thought wasn’t appealing in the slightest, and Dean had to admit that he was a little tired. There had been some major revelations today and his head felt like it was going around in aimless, dizzying circles. “But it’s Sammy,” he said softly, looking down at his supper. He couldn’t be in the same town as Sam and not see him. He just couldn’t. “I _have_ to go.”

He sensed that Gabriel and Castiel were exchanging a look, but he didn’t lift his head. After a few seconds, Gabriel cleared his throat. “Well, as your doctor I’m clearing you for it as long as you go to bed early tonight and finish your supper. I can see from here that you’re exhausted and you’re probably running a low grade fever.”

“I’m not –” Dean cut himself off when Gabriel dropped his fork and leaned across the table, pressing the back of his hand to Dean’s forehead. He jerked back from the touch, but it was too late.

“Low grade fever,” Gabriel repeated, scooping up his fork and pointing it at Dean. “Too much.”

Dean made a face at him and shoveled some pasta in his mouth instead of bothering to answer. Normally he could’ve easily cleaned the plate, but he only managed to eat half before he was full. He stood up intending to do the dishes but Castiel swooped in, removing the plate from his hands and ordering him to bed. Dean might’ve argued longer but for the fact that it meant Gabriel was stuck doing the dishes, which he found he was surprisingly okay with just for the huge pout it put on Gabriel’s face.

He took a quick shower, hot as he could stand it, and emerged feeling a little bit better. Castiel had made the bed up for him, but Dean stopped and shook his head at the sight of the turned down comforter. “I’ll take the couch tonight.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Cas, I can’t keep sleeping in your bed.”

"It's my bed. I get to decide who sleeps in it. You're going to have enough trouble sleeping tonight as it is without the couch making it worse."

"That's really not making me feel any better about stealing your bed, man. Trust me, no matter how bad the couch is I've slept in worse places."

Castiel stared at him for a few seconds, his mouth tightening into a thin line. His blue eyes flashed with anger, though it was hard to tell who it was directed at. He pointed to the bed and growled out, in a tone that left no room for disobedience, "Lay down."

"Cas -"

"Lay. Down."

Dean sighed but obeyed, wondering if maybe he should just spend the night on the floor after Castiel and Gabriel fell asleep. Surely if Castiel saw that he could make it through the night in one piece without sleeping on the bed, it wouldn't be an issue anymore? He sat down on the edge, watching as Castiel stormed into the bathroom. He didn't slam the door behind him, but it was a near thing and Dean still winced. 

Reluctantly, he stretched out. Castiel's bed was very comfortable - not quite the memory foam masterpiece he'd spent most of his childhood dreaming about, but close - and Dean had been sleeping better now than he had for years, but that didn't change how guilty he felt. He stared at the door through half-open eyes, gritting his teeth against the yawn that kept trying to stretch his jaw. Now that he was actually vertical, he was having a really hard time staying awake.

Behind him the bathroom door opened and Castiel came out. Dean was expecting him to leave the room and tensed in shock when he felt the mattress sink behind him. The covers were lifted as Castiel slipped his legs underneath them, and then the bed shifted as he laid down. It wasn't the first time Castiel had laid down beside him, of course, but now the room was dark and quiet and it felt a thousand times more intimate even if they weren't actually touching in any way.

And of course, then Castiel had to go and ruin it when he rolled over and put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Dean," he said softly.

Rather than answer, Dean grunted.

"I don't mean to make you uncomfortable. You don't have to sleep here if you would rather not, but you should know that I would gladly give my bed to you every night. I wish I could do more."

"Like what?" Dean asked, not daring to turn his head and look behind him. "Cas, shit, you've done everything for me. You and your brother saved my life."

"And yet you still say that like we did something special, instead of something that any decent person would do."

It was like poking the unacknowledged elephant in the room in the back, and Dean winced. He heard Castiel sigh and then shift closer so that Dean could feel the heat of his body. It was comforting in a way that he wasn't expecting, since he'd never really slept beside anyone before. Automatically he inched back, just a little, and stiffened in surprise when his back actually came into contact with Castiel's chest.

"Sorry."

"It's fine." The hand on his shoulder tightened briefly before hesitantly sliding across his chest, like Castiel wasn't sure how he would react to the fact that they were basically spooning now. And not only that, but Dean was the little spoon.

He was strangely okay with it. He figured that he shouldn't be, because this was crossing a lot of lines, but he was. He closed his eyes and relaxed, pleased when he felt Castiel follow suit a moment later. He thought it would take forever for him to fall asleep what with everything that had happened and the fact that tomorrow he was going to be meeting Sam, but it didn't. The faint sound of breathing behind him was so pleasant he was out before he even knew what was happening.

Gabriel woke them both up the next morning by rapping on their door loudly. The noise made Dean groan and Castiel mutter a curse into the back of Dean's neck. Their position had not changed much during the night, save for their legs being so tangled up now that he couldn't tell which limb belonged to who. Castiel was basically one solid line of heat from Dean's shoulders to his surprisingly warm toes and he loved it.

How could it be morning already? Dean felt like he could easily sleep for another six or seven hours. He stared at the far wall for about a minute before his eyes slowly dragged themselves shut again. He drifted in that awesome space between true sleep and consciousness for a long time before he heard a whisper behind him.

"Dean? Are you awake?"

"Mmm."

"I'm not sure whether to take that as a yes or a no." Castiel sounded like he was smiling. "How are you feeling?"

The question didn't seem to require an actual answer this time, as Castiel's hand found its way to his forehead a second later. Dean didn't bother trying to squirm away this time. 

"What's the verdict, Doc?" he mumbled.

"I'm not a doctor, but you're no warmer than you should be."

"Awesome."

"Are you going to get up?"

"Mmm."

"It's almost noon. I expect Bobby and Sam will be at the Roadhouse soon, if they're not already."

 _That_ woke Dean up in a hurry. He sat up quickly, feeling a flush of nervous energy. He couldn't believe that Sam wasn't the first thing to come to mind as soon as he woke up. But at the same time, he knew it would be a while before he got used to the idea of his brother being alive. Part of him had half-expected to wake up and hear Castiel say that he'd passed out after working with cars all day and that Sam was still dead.

He turned to look at his friend, taking in the startling blue eyes and messy dark brown hair. Castiel smiled lazily and Dean felt that smile like someone was tickling him on the inside, an itch that he wasn't sure how to scratch. It wasn't the first time Castiel had inspired those weird feelings in him, but these were definitely the strongest so far. He swallowed hard as Castiel's smile broadened.

"You should get up," Castiel said softly, reaching up to straighten the collar of Dean's t-shirt. "If Gabriel is still home at this time of the day, it means he's trying to make breakfast.”

"Fuck," Dean said, swinging himself out of bed. There was a reason that Gabriel and Castiel had an extensive collection of takeout menus. He grabbed a pair of jeans and yanked them on, leaving the bedroom at a run and arriving just in time to banish Gabriel from the kitchen and throw out some eggs that were well on their way to becoming charcoal.

Cooking a late breakfast gave him something else to focus on, but Dean couldn't have eaten even if Castiel's phone hadn't rung just as he was taking bacon out of the pan. He didn't need Castiel's measuring glance to know that it was Bobby. He pulled on his leather jacket with stiff, heavy motions, barely hearing Gabriel's good luck wishes as he walked out the door with the Impala's keys in hand. Castiel caught up to him just as he started the car, sliding into the passenger's seat without a word.

The drive to the Roadhouse didn’t take nearly long enough – one of the downsides to a small town, Dean was quickly discovering – and when he’d parked he just sat there for a long minute with his hands on the steering wheel. The leather was smooth against his thumbs when he rubbed it nervously. Some of his best memories with John had come from the Impala, mostly because even John had been able to recognize the intelligence in having someone else who could drive, and those first few times Dean was in the driver’s seat… it was almost like he wasn’t a werewolf anymore. 

It had been like – was still like – being genuinely good at something for the first time in his life. Dean knew his baby inside and out and he was confident in his ability to keep her in top condition. He was not nearly so confident in how this meeting with Sam was going to go. All of the doubts that had plagued him last night were rushing back. What if he wasn’t enough for Sam? What if John had been right all those years? What if Sam took one look at him and turned back around and walked out?

Or worse, what if his presence here somehow fucked Sam up? Sam had a fiancée. He was going to be married at some point, probably have kids and an awesome job. He had things in his near future that most hunters only dreamed about. Who Was Dean to risk screwing all that up? Maybe it would be for the best if he didn’t go in… if Sam and Bobby just forgot all about him and left him for dead.

The sudden touch to his arm made him jump. He’d forgotten all about Castiel. The distance between them was both too small and too big, and maybe Castiel realized that because he unbuckled his seatbelt and slid across the bucket seat until he was close enough for Dean to feel the heat from his body. Just like last night, it was incredibly soothing. He didn’t take his hand off Dean’s arm and the tingles came back again, surging in light waves from his hand all the way up his shoulder.

“If you’re not ready for this, you don’t have to go in there.”

“Geez, Cas. I’d appreciate if you didn’t use your mindreading skills on me,” Dean muttered, not meeting his gaze. He stared instead through the windshield, at the street which was rapidly growing both overcast and blurry as it began to rain. Slow at first, but then harder, like someone upstairs had switched on the faucet. 

“I can’t read minds, but I know you.”

“How? How can you _know_ me? It hasn’t even been two months yet. For all you know I could be a serial killer. I _am_ a hunter. I could kill you and Gabe in your sleep!”

Castiel’s mouth quirked. “I sleep five feet away from you most of the time, but in all that time you haven’t once tried. Hell, last night we shared the same bed and the only thing you did was whine when I tried to roll over. And frankly I don’t believe you would ever hurt anyone, no matter what you say, not unless they raised a hand to someone else first. There are different kinds of hunters, Dean. Even if you do desire to keep up that kind of life, you don’t have to be exactly like your father.”

Dean winced. He wasn’t sure how Castiel did that, how he could see so clearly into the depths of what made up Dean and tease out exactly what he feared the most. “He ruined everything,” he said quietly, letting his hands slip free of the wheel and fall into his lap. “I was thinking earlier – John lived his life looking for revenge. For my mom, for Sammy. He never woulda let a vampire get away with killing a family member. How can I?”

“Dean.” Castiel’s hand tightened to the point of pain. “You are not required to hunt Benny. You don’t have to hunt again ever if you don’t want to.”

“It’s all I know.”

“That’s not true. You know about cars. Bobby liked your work; we got a little side-tracked yesterday but I'm certain that if you expressed an interest in working with him, he would gladly offer you a job. You know about food and alcohol and television, and if you give yourself time you’ll learn more. You already far outshine Gabriel and I when it comes to the kitchen. And you know about Bobby, and Sam, and me.”

“Is that enough?” Dean whispered.

“It can be if you let it.”

“I don’t think I know how to do that.”

Castiel reached out and grasped his chin, pulling his head around until their eyes met. “I’m here. I won’t profess to having all the answers, but I’m not going anywhere. I told you that sometimes I still struggle, Dean. I’ve accepted that I probably always will. But I also refuse to give up. I like the life I have here. I don’t want to go back, not really. It was a choice I had to make, and now it’s a choice you need to make.”

Dean’s throat felt too tight, and before he knew he was blurting out, “What if Sam doesn’t like me?”

“He will,” Castiel said, simple as that, and took the keys out of the ignition. He reached across Dean and pushed the door open, then nudged Dean in the ribs until he took the hint and stumbled out of the car. Castiel followed, closing and locking the doors, and somehow in the middle of it all they ended up still holding hands as they walked across the parking lot and into the Roadhouse.

It wasn’t as busy as it had been before, probably because it was the middle of the day, but there were still lots of people. Not enough to keep Dean from zeroing in on Bobby and the two people sitting at the table with him, though. A hot burst of panic mixed with excitement shot through him and he found himself clutching Castiel’s hand tightly enough to hurt as Bobby said something and the guy turned around to face the door, and Dean got his first glimpse of his little brother.

Or at least, little brother in theory. Karma had clearly come back to bite him in the ass for all the times he’d teased Sam about being a little squirt. This guy was huge, broad in the shoulders and a good four or five inches taller than Dean. He needed a haircut, because his hair was a hell of a lot shaggier than John would've let by, and he was wearing the kind of clothing that Dean had never even thought about wearing before: jeans and a t-shirt, but of the high quality that pretty much guaranteed Sam Winchester never spent his time digging up corpses.

Dean couldn’t breathe again as Sam’s face lit up in a huge smile. He pushed himself away from the table and came through the crowd towards them. In what felt like an impossibly short time he was being hauled in for a hug that, if he had been unable to catch his breath before, definitely meant he couldn’t breathe now. With those muscles, Sam had to work out. And unfortunately for Castiel, because Dean was still clinging to him like a little kid, he got hauled along for the ride.

“God, Dean!” a deep voice was saying, _Sam_ was saying, “When Bobby called me I couldn’t believe it. I still can’t. You’re actually here.” He squeezed Dean even tighter, if possible, and Dean squeaked something unintelligible in response.

“Babe, maybe you should let go. I don’t think he can breathe.” The stunning blonde who had followed them was casting a worried glance at Dean’s face, which was probably a nice shade of red between his own uncooperative lungs and Sam’s steel grip.

“Shit, sorry.” Sam let go quickly and Dean stumbled back against a warm shoulder. Castiel braced him as he took a deep breath, head swimming just a little. 

“He’s a little excited,” said the woman, smiling and offering a hand that Dean took automatically. “My name is Jess. You probably know this already, but I'm Sam's fiancée. It’s wonderful to have the chance to meet the big brother that Sam has talked about for years. Although I have to say, you’re a lot more handsome than he made you out to be.”

“What can I say, one of us got the brains and the other got the beauty,” Dean said with a weak smile. Jess’s grip was unexpectedly firm and grounding, and he liked the way she stepped closer to Sam when she let go. Sam’s arm came up to wrap around her shoulders, and the two of them looked amazing together. His little brother had done a damn good job for himself.

“Actually, I think he means one of us got everything and the other got nothing,” Sam said, smirking. But it wasn’t long before his grin broke out again. If he’d had a tail, it would’ve been going a mile a minute. Dean just stared at him, too preoccupied to be able to come up with a decent answer.

“Why don’t we sit down?” Castiel suggested.

“God, Cas, I didn’t even see you there." Sam clapped him on the back. "Sorry, man."

“It’s fine, Sam. Come on, Dean.” 

Being seated at the table made the situation a little less awkward, if only because he could hide his and Castiel’s hands from sight. Castiel still hadn’t let go and Dean wasn’t sure why, but he wasn’t looking a gift horse in the mouth. The situation was so overwhelming that he thought he might get up and run away if Castiel wasn’t there to keep him pinned down.

For a few minutes there was just some light talk. Dean learned that Sam was a student at Stanford University and that he was planning to become a lawyer. He and Jess were engaged, though not yet married – they had discussed some dates for the wedding and were thinking about a spring ceremony next year. In the meantime, she was working on becoming a pediatric nurse and both of them were trying to decide if they wanted to keep living in California or move closer to Madison when they were done with school.

Jo came over and brought them all a round of beer, but as soon as she was gone Sam turned to his brother with a very serious look. Apparently he wasn’t into beating around the bush, because he said, “I need you to know that Bobby and I searched for you. I really… I thought you were dead, Dean. I remember seeing you walk into that room. That werewolf jumped you before you even knew what was going on.”

“I don’t remember,” Dean confessed, feeling guilty. Maybe if he had, he would've pushed his father more to search for Sam. “I just remember waking up… after.”

“I guess you hit your head pretty hard when he tackled you. I’m not sure, I passed out after that. I thought I wouldn't wake again, but I did. I was out in the middle of nowhere, and you and Dad weren't picking up so I called Bobby.” Sam shot a small smile at Bobby. “But… Jesus, we looked for you guys for _years_. You didn’t contact him and no matter how many hunters Bobby asked, no one ever heard anything about John or Dean Winchester. After a while… I mean, I figured you were both gone. If I had known…”

“It’s fine, Sammy, really –”

“Why didn’t you call Bobby?” Sam interrupted, and Dean winced. Not twenty minutes in and his baby brother was already setting the stage for a chick flick talk of epic proportions. 

He really didn’t want to tell Sam about John and his opinion on werewolves. Not right now. He was pretty sure that the only ones who had any idea about his less than stellar relationship with John were Gabriel, Castiel and Benny, and he wanted to keep it that way. “I got bit. By that werewolf, I mean. Dad was trying to protect me.”

The lie tasted empty on his tongue and Castiel squeezed his hand so tightly it hurt. 

Sam’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “Bobby wouldn’t have hurt you. He doesn’t care that you’re a werewolf any more than he cares about me being a werewolf.”

Hearing that confirmation from Sam’s own mouth made Dean wince again. He didn't know if he would ever get used to hearing it said so casually. “I know that now. I guess… maybe Dad didn’t. I dunno. He kept us off the grid as much as he could. To be honest, we thought _you_ were the one who was dead. If I’d known… but there was just so much blood.” He squeezed his eyes shut and the trashed motel room flashed before him. The pools of blood on the rotting carpet, the stink of iron and rust.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said quietly.

“It’s not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault.” Except maybe John’s, though Dean didn’t say that. But if Sam had been with Bobby all this time… it seemed impossible for his father not to have known. What if he had? What if he’d let that hang over Dean’s head all this time…

Something cold nudged against his fingers, and he looked down to see that Castiel had pushed his beer closer to his hand. Dean picked it up and took a long sip, grateful for the sharp taste. Bobby and Jess were both looking at him with sympathy in their eyes and he didn’t like that. He didn’t need their pity. He was fine.

“It sounds like maybe there was just some crossed wires,” Jess said softly, putting her hand on Sam’s knee. “Babe, didn’t you say the werewolf that attacked you was caught and killed by some hunters?”

“Yeah, but Bobby knew more about it than I did.”

"Rufus caught wind of the bastard about five years ago. Mean son of a bitch, Azazel."

Castiel gasped. " I didn't realize that's who you were talking about. Even my pack heard tales of him. "

"I'm sure they did," Bobby said, tapping his beer against the table. "He bit more children in a couple months than most werewolf packs do in a lifetime. When Rufus put him down, he was spouting off some bullshit story about how he was trying to raise an army for his Alpha."

"His alpha?" Dean repeated, alert.

"Rufus investigated it. Azazel didn't have an Alpha. Maybe that's what drove him so crazy," said Bobby. "Either way, Rufus did the world a favor by puttin' him outta commission."

All this time, they'd been chasing a ghost. John was so determined to kill the werewolf who'd killed Sam... and it had already been done. And if they'd stayed in contact, they would have known. Dean took a deep breath, letting it out slowly through his mouth. "I'm sorry, Sammy. If I'd known that you were still alive, I would’ve come back for you. I had no clue... and if I hadn't ended up here I still wouldn't." He almost wanted to laugh. If it weren't for Benny, Dean might've lived the rest of his life never knowing his brother was alive.

"Hey, it's okay. I get it."

"No, it's not. I shoulda been there." 

"Dean, you were just a kid."

"I was supposed to look after you!" Dean snapped, frustrating surging to the surface. He was getting really annoyed with people telling him that he was 'just a kid' so it wasn't his fault. Staying in the room with Sam was his job and he'd left. End of story. 

"Dean -"

Dean didn't listen. He nearly knocked his chair over, he got up so fast. He just needed to get away from the table for a couple minutes. He found himself standing outside with no real memory of how he'd got out there. The rain had stopped, though the sky was still cloudy and grey, and he shivered as he leaned against the Impala's damp hood.

"Wow."

And of course, Sam had followed him.

"I didn't think I'd ever see the Impala again," Sam breathed, not quite reaching out to touch the driver's side door. "Christ, it looks exactly the same."

"What, you think I'd change my baby?"

Sam snorted. "Same old Dean," he said, his smile fading as quickly as it had come. "I don't blame you, you know. Not for the attack, and definitely not for not coming to find me. Dad was the one who should've known better, not you."

"He was doing the best he could," Dean muttered, and all of a sudden it was like those years of separation had never happened and Sam was a little kid again, complaining because there wasn't enough money for another box of Lucky Charms for breakfast. How many times had he begged Sam to be a little more understanding using those exact words? He'd lost count, but no wonder they rang false. He could only say something so often before it started sounding pretty empty.

"Bullshit," Sam said sharply. "Believe me, Dad did what he wanted to do. It wasn't about us and you know that. Otherwise he would've left us with Bobby, especially after you got bit. He should've taken you there."

That was coming a little too close for comfort. "I wasn't gonna abandon him, Sam."

"And that's why you're here."

Dean froze. "Sam -"

"Dad's dead."

There was no way to deny it.

"Bobby told me, but I would've figured it out on my own." Sam sighed and leaned against the Impala, his head tipped up towards the sky. "Lemme guess, he died doing what he loved."

"We were hunting a vampire," Dean confirmed.

"Here in Madison?"

"No, up north."

"How'd you meet Cas, then?"

"Benny."

"Dad was hunting Benny?" Sam's eyebrows shot up and he whistled. "Why?"

"It wasn't Benny. Just some other vampire that was making trouble." Dean kept his eyes on the ground and his hands shoved in his pockets. This was dangerous territory. But he could make it sound believable. "Benny realized what I was and I guess he decided that he didn't want to kill me. So he knocked me out and carted my ass here to Cas and Gabe."

"He decided he didn't want to kill you. Just like that."

The skepticism in Sam's voice made him antsy. "I don't pretend to know what goes on in the head of vampires. He's a monster, I'm a monster, who the fuck knows. Maybe there's some sorta monster code that says you don't kill other monsters."

"You're not a monster," Sam said, sounding a little shocked. 

"We're frigging werewolves, Sammy. That about says it all."

"Whoa, hey, no it doesn't. I'm not a monster. Cas isn't a monster. Jess sure as hell isn't a monster. And I would be willing to bet my scholarship that you aren't either."

"You don't know me," Dean said in a low voice.

"Maybe not, but you're my brother."

"That doesn't mean much."

"It means everything to me." Sam grabbed his wrist and Dean sucked in a sharp breath, shocked by both the unexpected movement and by how much it hurt. He'd thought the skin around his wrists and neck was finally healing. He was unprepared for the pain of Sam's grip.

Sam seemed to realize his mistake, because he let go quickly. "Shit, sorry. Are you hurt?"

"It's from a hunt," Dean said, which wasn't entirely a lie.

"You're still a hunter." Sam sighed then, running a hand through his hair. "I figured Dad wouldn't give up on his crusade that easily, and that he'd insist on dragging you along, but I was hoping..." He looked up at Dean, and there was something in his eyes that was hitting a little too close to comfort. Too many dots were on the verge of being connected.

"Hunting's all I know, but Cas is trying to convince me to get out of the game," Dean said, desperate for a change of subject. He didn't want to talk about John. “He hooked me up with Bobby, trying to get me a job working as a mechanic.”

“You think you might stay?”

“I dunno.” It was hard to look at the hope in Sam’s eyes and not want to keep it alive any way that he could. “I haven’t… like I said, hunting’s all I know. And I’d have to get my own place, stop running credit card scams… make a living from something other than hustling pool.”

“Yeah, I’d hate to have to prosecute my own brother someday,” Sam said, but he was smiling as he gave Dean a playful nudge in the ribs. “I wouldn’t be too worried. You can take it one step at a time instead of doing it all at once, Dean. Cas didn’t seem like he was too anxious to boot you out the door.”

Dean colored a little. “What’re you trying to imply?”

“I saw you guys holding hands. Something you wanna tell me?”

“That didn’t mean anything. I was just nervous.”

“Really.”

“Yes, really.” Dean huffed and gave him a little shove, not surprised when Sam barely moved. He couldn’t help thinking that Sam would’ve grown up to be an awesome hunter. All of that raw strength would’ve been useful on hunts.

“That’s not how it looked to me.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Well, I’m telling you how it is. Cas and I are just friends. That’s all.”

“Okay,” Sam said, clearly not convinced. He glanced over his shoulder. “You wanna… go back in and have another beer, maybe?”

“Sure.” Dean exhaled through the last of his nerves, falling into step beside Sam as they walked back inside. He’d had his first conversation with his brother and neither of them had come through it any worse for the wear. Sam didn’t hate him – yet – and he hadn’t turned tail and made a run for the airport. It was still a little awkward, but Dean was determined to get through that. He had to, because this was _Sam_. 

\--

The change of spirits that Dean underwent during the next three days was astonishing, at least as far as Castiel was concerned. Having Sam around seemed to bring out a boyish quality in Dean that made him more comfortable with the Roadhouse and the town of Madison in general. Sam, in turn, was finally beginning to lose that sense of melancholy that had been hanging over him for as long as Castiel had known him.

Bobby did hire Dean, much to Dean’s surprise, and the first night that Dean came home, covered in grease and beaming, Castiel was hard-pressed not to jump him right there. He refrained only because Dean hadn’t seemed like he was interested in anything more than their current friendship. Sure, friends usually didn’t sleep in the same bed together every night – but then, most people didn’t grow up as touch starved as Dean was, not that he was aware of it.

That was the night Gabriel cornered him and said, “You gotta tell him, Cas. You can’t put it off any longer. Wait till after supper if you want to, but the full moon is tomorrow night and Dean has to be feeling it by now. You know as well as I do that he’s never changed before and he's recovered enough that it'll definitely happen this time. It’s gonna be hard on him.”

Castiel sighed. “Why do I have to tell him?”

“Uh, because you’re dying to mate with him and try your best to make a bunch of freckled, blue-eyed pups?”

“Gabriel!”

Gabriel smirked at him. “I hardly think he’s going to be all that receptive to the news coming from me or even Sam. I can be in the room with you to answer questions, but this has to come from you.”

“What are you talking about?”

It was only long practice that came from having Gabriel as a brother and Balthazar as a friend that kept Castiel from jumping. As he turned to look at Dean, he inwardly cursed himself for becoming so used to Dean’s presence and smell that his inner wolf no long considered him a threat of any kind. It had allowed Dean to sneak up on them both. If anything the sight of Dean standing there, freshly showered with still damp hair, made his inner wolf croon with joy and arousal.

Dean glanced back and forth between them, frowning. “Seriously. Tell me what?”

More due to the finger poking him pointedly in the back than because he wanted to, Castiel stepped forward and held a hand out. His heart fluttered with renewed intensity when Dean took it automatically. He told himself not to read too much into it, that Dean probably wasn’t even aware of how he had been leaning into or seeking out Castiel’s touch. Castiel was the first person he’d woken up to who made him feel safe, and it could’ve just as easily have been Gabriel that Dean sought affection from.

He pulled gently, urging Dean to follow him into the living room. Gabriel trailed behind them and took a seat on the chair, leaving the couch open for Castiel and Dean. Once they were seated, Castiel squeezed Dean’s hand tightly. He said, “I’m not sure if you realized, but the full moon is tomorrow night.”

“Yeah, I knew,” Dean said tensely. “You learn pretty quick to keep track of when you might have to go out and hunt a werewolf.”

“Right,” Castiel murmured, deciding rapidly that it would be best to leave that be right now. It was like Dean sometimes threw comments like that out just to see whether one of them would rise to the challenge, and they needed to approach this calmly. “Dean, you never changed because of the collar and cuffs that you wore. The silver kept your body too weak for that. Now that you aren’t wearing them anymore and your body has had a chance to recover a little, it stands to reason that you will likely change tomorrow night.”

Dean went dead white. 

“It’ll be hard on you. The first time always is, but now that it’s been put off for this long it will probably be a lot worse,” said Gabriel. “If we’re lucky, you’ll just pass out and spend most of it unconscious.”

“Gabriel!” Castiel hissed, feeling a minute trembling starting up in Dean’s hands.

“What? It’s true, Cassie. No sense in mincing words.”

Without saying a word, Dean pulled his hand out of Castiel’s and stood up. He walked quickly out of the room. Castiel shot his brother a poisonous look and followed, closing his – their? – bedroom door behind them. It was hard for him to imagine never having changed before, harder still to imagine being as terrified of the change that Dean was right now. He’d never been that good with words, but right then his mind was completely blank.

“I can’t do this,” Dean said tightly.

“Dean –”

“No, I can’t. There has to be some kinda suppressant I can take to make sure that it doesn’t. A pill, or – or a herb. Shit, I’ll put that damned collar back on if I have to.” He started looking around, like he actually thought Castiel would’ve allowed that hated thing to stay in the apartment, and that finally snapped Castiel out of his daze.

“No, Dean. You are never putting that collar back on.”

“You can’t stop me!”

“Actually, I can.” Castiel seized his wrists when Dean spun towards him, pushing him none too gently against the wall. Dean was practically panting with fear. “Dean, listen to me. The change is natural for all werewolves and it’s been denied to you all these years. That’s incredibly dangerous.” Not to mention psychologically harmful, he didn’t add. “There was enough silver in your blood to keep it from happening before, but now that it’s working its way from your system it _is_ going to happen. And I don’t care how scared you are, I won’t let you hurt yourself anymore.”

“I’m not scared,” Dean spat. “I just… I’m just… Oh god.” He collapsed in on himself, suddenly looking small. “What if I lose it and kill someone?”

“Dean.” 

“What if I can’t control myself? I don’t want to kill anyone, Cas, and I know what werewolves can do. What if –”

“ _Dean_ ,” Castiel said, more firmly this time. “Gabriel and I will be with you. Sam and Jess can be there too, if you’re more comfortable with that. We would never let you hurt anyone, and for that matter I don’t think you would. You’re not a violent person, not unless you have significant reason to be, and we have safe places set up to make sure that doesn’t happen. I promise you, it will be okay.”

Dean stared at him, his green eyes wet and alarmed. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“You won’t. I swear.” Reassured now that Dean was calmer, Castiel released his wrists and dared to stroke Dean’s hair. “You’re not a monster. You won’t lose control. But it will hurt, and you might pass out.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do.”

“Why?” 

“Because you’re my friend.”

“Why?” Dean whispered again.

Castiel sighed, hating John Winchester with everything that he was. “Because you’re a good person, and you don’t think that you are. You think that you should’ve died when you were bitten instead of being a burden on your father. You think that Benny should have killed you. But you’re wrong. You have no idea how much I care about you.”

“Cas…”

It was risky and stupid but Castiel couldn’t help himself. He leaned in and kissed Dean. He could feel the way that Dean stiffened in surprise, and he deliberately kept the kiss chaste: a simple brushing of lips, no more. He had his suspicions about the way that Dean had been raised, and if he was right then Dean had little experience with relationships. Too much too fast was asking for trouble.

Dean licked his lips unconsciously and Castiel’s eyes followed automatically, which meant that he saw when Dean smiled. “You… uh… really?”

“Yes.”

“That’s… huh.”

“If you’re not interested, I’m not going to kick you out,” Castiel told him. “I won’t be upset if you’re not. You are going through a lot right now and I probably shouldn’t have kissed you, but I couldn’t help myself.”

“No, it’s…” Dean exhaled and licked his lips again. “I… thought about it, a couple times. Just didn’t think _you’d_ be interested.”

“I am.” He swallowed then, the swell of hope that maybe this might work hitting him hard. He’d been trying not to think about Balthazar, about the last time he’d opened himself up to someone and been turned down flat. But Dean was still here.

“Awesome.” Dean’s smile was a little shakier this time. “So you wanna… have sex?”

Castiel choked. “What? Dean, that’s not – we don’t have to jump into bed right away.”

“Oh.”

“Have you ever… you know, been in a relationship before?”

Dean dropped his gaze. “No, not really. Being a hunter didn’t leave much time for that sorta stuff, and… I mean, I had sex when we were on a case and I needed to get information. But I always made sure not to get involved. I didn’t know how strong the silver was when it came to keeping me in check.” He spoke more to himself for a moment, unaware of Castiel bristling in anger.

He had to take a deep breath and let it out slowly, sorting through the multiple revelations that Dean had just dropped in his lap. His hatred for John Winchester was increasing in leaps and bounds every time he thought it had hit some sort of limit. His suspicions in terms of Dean’s past relationships were not only correct, it was far worse than he’d guessed. Dean had only ever had sex because he _had_ to – probably at least part of the time on John’s command - and it didn’t seem like he’d ever enjoyed it because he was too worried about losing control and hurting someone.

When he thought he could speak without snarling, he said as patiently as possible, “Dean, one night stands do not exactly constitute a relationship. And if that’s the sum of your prior experience, it makes me even more determined to take things slow between us. Not because I don’t want you that way, because I do, but because you are more important to me than just a quick tumble between the sheets.”

“I like you too,” Dean mumbled. He was blushing now, which was adorable and made Castiel want to push him down in the bed so that he could kiss him all over. “But… Cas, I’m not sure yet. Whether I’m staying. I’m still a hunter.”

“I know,” Castiel said quietly, inwardly aching over the thought of Dean leaving. He wasn’t sure he could ever let Dean go, especially not now that he knew Dean felt the same way.

“I haven’t decided, so…” He shuffled his feet.

“I understand, and if you don’t want anything more until you decide – or ever – that’s okay. But even hunters should have a home base to come back to sometimes.”

Incredibly, Dean grinned. “Yeah, you have a point.” He eyed Castiel for a moment, then tentatively leaned forward and kissed him. Castiel’s knees went a little weak with relief and he clutched at Dean’s shoulders, pleased when Dean’s arms wound around his waist. 

“What about you?” Dean asked when they’d parted. “Relationship wise, I mean.”

“I’m not very good with people, Dean.” Castiel averted his gaze. That was true, but it wasn’t the whole truth. After what happened with Meg and then Balthazar, he’d never really dared to open himself up to anyone again. He’d focused a lot on building up a life for himself here. Dean was the first person who’d squirmed in past his barriers, and that was probably only because Castiel hadn’t realized what was happening until it was too late.

“C’mon, Cas. You’re not that great at lying, either.”

Castiel made a face. Dean had been honest with him. He deserved the same respect. “I told you about Meg, and how neither of us were very happy about mating. Other than that… I didn’t fit in very well with the rest of the pack. I only had one friend while I was growing up… his name was Balthazar. In many respects, he was similar to Gabriel. Maybe that’s why I liked him so much.”

“He’s the one who helped you leave,” Dean said slowly. "I remember."

“Yes. I was in shock after Meg’s death. When Michael came and told me that I was to be mated to someone else, I was furious. Balthazar calmed me down. He helped me to pack my things and spoke to Samandriel on my behalf. He even drove me to the city and paid for my bus ticket. At the depot, I… asked him to come with me.”

Dean sighed, his breath ruffling Castiel’s hair. “And he said no?”

“He was honest. He said he was not attracted to males, and that he was in love with someone else and didn’t want to leave,” Castiel muttered, glad that he could press his cheek to Dean’s shoulder and not look at him. The rejection still stung, mostly because he’d had _no idea_. He’d known that Balthazar indulged in frequent sex with the other young (female) wolves, but his friend had never seemed romantically inclined towards someone in particular. To have that thrown at him out of left field... it hurt. 

“Oh Cas… I’m sorry.”

“I would not have wanted him to be miserable here, so maybe it’s best he didn’t come.”

“Maybe,” Dean said, sounding skeptical. He was quiet for a few minutes and Castiel allowed himself to indulge in the feeling of being held, in being as close to Dean as he had wanted to be since the moment Benny had dumped the unconscious pup in his arms. 

“You don’t have to worry about tomorrow night, Dean,” he murmured finally. “I have been a wolf all my life, and I would not lie to you on this.”

“Way to change the subject.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know. I just…” Dean groaned and lightly banged his head against the wall, staring somewhere over Castiel’s shoulder. His voice was heavy with resignation. “I can’t help it. My dad always said there was a wolf inside me just waiting to tear someone to shreds and that’s why I needed the collar and cuffs to keep me in check. I believed him. Part of me still does. You and Sam and Jess and even Gabe, you’re all so much _better_ than me. What’s to say I might not be one of those crazy wolves who loses their shit when they change?”

Castiel gritted his teeth, frustrated that Dean couldn’t seem to see his own worth. And no matter what he said, Dean wouldn’t believe him. Hopefully tomorrow night would go a long way towards proving to Dean just why he wasn’t a monster. “Just trust me, Dean.”

“You ask a lot, man,” Dean muttered, spreading his hand across Castiel’s lower back. He paused for a moment, cocking his head, and Castiel heard knocking at the front door. They both knew it was probably Sam, Jess and Jo arriving for dinner. “God, Sam’s gonna be insufferable.”

“What? Why?”

“He asked me if there was anything going on between us and I said no.”

It thrilled Castiel a little to know that someone else had been able to see that Dean had feelings for him. He tried to hide his smile. “He’s your little brother. I’m often told by Gabriel that’s all we’re good for.”

Dean snorted. “From what I remember, that’s about right.”

Yet for the first time, the mention of the years he and Sam had been separated didn’t seem to depress him. If anything, he looked happier than he had in a long time as he opened the door and stepped aside to let Castiel through first. Castiel wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or not. It was good to know that Dean could put aside his worry over tomorrow night. But at the same time, Dean being this skilled at compartmentalizing suggested even more disturbing things about his childhood. 

He would probably never know exactly what Dean had been through over the years, and that in itself was enough to put a dampener on the evening. He remained quiet for the most part, and was relieved when the rest of their guests departed and he was able to retire to bed with Dean alone.

\--

Sam didn’t know that Dean had never gone through the change before. Of course he didn't. But Dean’s heart still skipped a beat at his brother’s nonchalant question about whether he wanted to join them for the night. If he lost control – and no matter what Castiel said, he still thought that was a pretty big if – he did not want to be around his baby brother. 

Fortunately, Gabriel spoke up before Dean had to come up with an answer and Sam had accepted Gabriel’s response, whatever it had been. As much as it hurt to look at Sam's puppy eyes and turn him down, Dean knew that it was for the best.

He spent most of the night and the next day desperately trying not to think about it, which only served to make him think about it even more. Work was a distraction, but not much of one. He and John had dealt with werewolves before, of course; John was especially attuned to cases involving werewolves and ghosts and he would go out of his way to deal with them even if it meant a cross country drive. Dean had lost count of how many full moons he'd spent staring into the jaws of a snarling wolf that wanted to rend him limb from limb.

Now, though, as the clock crept closer to the moment when the moon would rise, he wondered how many of those people had really been dangerous. Some of them were, no doubt, and he had the scars to prove it, but then there were others… how many had only been trying to protect themselves in the face of what they saw as a random attack? Had they even done anything to warrant a hunter’s presence, or had John just picked cities at random and scouted for any werewolves during the full moon?

It troubled him that he would never know for certain, and between that and the increasing restlessness that settled into his very bones he found it hard to sit around. He paced for a little while, eyes on the horizon where the sun was slowly but surely falling. If it were summer, he would have a few hours yet. But they were into autumn now, and the days were getting shorter. 

Dean thought that he should have been locked away somewhere, chained up even, but that suggestion was met with a resounding refusal. The look on Castiel’s face made him regret even mentioning it. Gabriel told him that the front door had been built with reinforced steel, which would give any werewolf pause, and that he and Castiel would be more than enough to subdue Dean should that even be necessary.

He just hoped they were right.

The floorboards outside of the bedroom door creaked and Dean turned his head a little, already knowing who it was. Castiel. Just thinking the name made his heart pound for an entirely different reason. He still had trouble believing that Castiel had actually kissed him. It had shocked the hell out of him. And then for him to think that _Dean_ might be the one who wasn't interested? Sometimes he swore that Castiel had to have a screw loose. It was the only logical explanation.

"You might as well come in," he said, folding his arms across his chest. "I know you're out there."

Castiel pushed the door the rest of the way open, not looking in the least bit guilty. "Bobby called. He wanted to talk to you before you left today, but he said you ran out too fast. You're not to come in until the full moon is over."

"But -"

"It's not a big deal, Dean," Castiel told him, correctly guessing what Dean was going to say. "Gabriel usually takes the days of the full moon off, too. So do I. The change takes a lot out of you. You'll probably spend most of the next couple days sleeping. You won't be in any shape to work."

Dean scowled, disliking the thought of missing work for any reason. He didn't want to give Bobby a reason to fire him. This was the first job he'd ever had outside of hunting and he was enjoying it. There was something surprisingly satisfying about having something concrete to show after a day's work. The fact that that something in this case happened to be a fixed car was just a bonus. Even if he wasn't sure he could keep at it for the rest of his life without going insane, he didn't want to get fired.

A little smile twitching at his lips, Castiel crossed the distance between them. "You're adorable when you pout."

"What? I am not!"

"Yes, you are." Castiel chuckled, wrapping him in a warm embrace. Dean struggled against him for only a few seconds before subsiding, though he couldn't help muttering a couple of insults under his breath. 

They'd been standing there like that for a while when it began as a prickling sensation along the back of his neck, almost like the feeling you got when you were being watched. His hands and feet, particularly his fingers and toes, tingled with that pins and needles sensation. Dean flexed them absently, startled when instead of going away the tingling took a turn for a little bit sharper. 

Castiel's hands pressed him close. "It's okay, Dean. Just let it happen."

"Cas," he whispered, terrified as the tingling turned into a burn that raced up his arms and legs to culminate in his core. He pushed Castiel away, staggering backwards and crashing to the floor when his legs lost the ability to support him. The sound of bones cracking echoed in his ears, almost covering up the wet tearing of flesh as his skeleton started to rearrange itself.

Dean heard himself screaming right up until he couldn't, when his face started to feel like it was melting off. He was only vaguely aware of Castiel stroking his hair and back, unable to really feel it in the wake of everything else that was bombarding his body. He kicked out a leg and caught a flash of fur out of the corner of his eye right before his vision went completely black. His already racing heart pounded even harder and he couldn't breathe.

Someone – Gabriel? - skidded into the room at that point and dropped to his knees beside Dean's body. Dean could tell by the vibrations on the floor before even that was lost to him. Dean didn't know what was going on, and the thin prick of the needle was nothing compared to the agony racing through him. 

Whatever he'd been given, it worked fast. His muscles forcibly relaxed, still trembling, until he was sprawled bonelessly on the floor and gasping. Castiel's tear-streaked face appeared in his vision, still human but in shades of grey now, and he whined with the realization that his vision had returned. Every bone and muscle ached unbearably and he knew he couldn't have moved even if he wanted to.

"Dean, are you with me?" Castiel's voice was distant, muffled, but audible. He whined again and felt something at the base of his spine responding, thumping the floor. 

His tail. His tail was thumping the floor.

Castiel tried to smile, but it didn't work. He had blood on his hands and cheeks. "We're going to shift now, too, but if you want me to fight the change and stay human I can. I did it last month. I've had enough practice."

"Cassie," Gabriel said from somewhere to Dean’s right, sounding faintly disapproving.

Like this, Dean couldn't speak. He didn't even think he had the capacity to bark or howl or whatever it was wolves did. One of Castiel's hands was by his muzzle, though, and the best he could manage was to open his mouth and gently drag his tongue over those fingers. He tasted blood - his own - and sweat. 

"Oh Dean," Castiel said, his eyes filling with fresh tears. He took a deep breath, visibly centering himself, and Dean watched in amazement as Castiel the human became Castiel the wolf. It looked much less painful than what Dean had gone through, not to mention the process was a lot faster. And when it was over, the large black wolf stood up with ease and shook himself all over before nuzzling at Dean's neck with a low whine.

Dean panted quietly in response. John had always made it sound like werewolves lost any sense of humanity when they turned. Maybe that was true and Dean was all wolf now, but he didn’t feel any different. Except for the pain. He was in a hell of a lot more pain. It had faded a little, but he still didn’t dare try to move, too worried that it might come back. Walking over to the bed was way out of his reach, never mind something that would take as much effort as killing.

The gentle nuzzling at his neck stopped when Castiel flopped down beside him. As a wolf, he was bigger than Dean and his presence was comforting. Gabriel, all blond and a little smaller than Dean, sprawled out on Dean’s other side, leaving him between the two of them. He could think of worse places to be. He put his head down on Castiel’s paws and closed his eyes, and a moment later he felt Castiel begin to wash the top of his head. 

It was kinda gross, but it made something in his chest feel warm and tight. He let it continue.

At some point exhaustion outweighed the pain, maybe the medicine Gabriel had given him helped, and he passed out. He woke up hours later to find himself tucked in bed with the covers drawn up over his chest. He was stark naked underneath and he hurt just as much as he had as a wolf. Moving his right leg a fraction caused a vicious cramp that made him yelp.

“Jesus Christ, what the hell,” he moaned, trying to sit up and yelping again. Every fresh movement caused a new burst of pain and he floundered.

“Just lay down.” Castiel caught his shoulder and shoved him down flat, holding him there until he was certain Dean would obey. Then he moved down the bed, carelessly flipping off the blankets. He took Dean’s foot into his lap and pressed his fingers into Dean’s calves.

The pain was sharp and hot for a few tense seconds before it all dissolved, the knot disappearing under the wake of Castiel’s extremely talented fingers. Castiel didn’t stop there, slowly making his way up and down Dean’s leg. Then he switched to the other leg, patiently massaging away every ache. It felt like heaven after last night and Dean melted with a whimper.

“Oh fuck,” he said reverently when Castiel’s hands on his hips urged him to roll over. He did so, moaning louder when Castiel’s fingers dug into his back. “Marry me, Cas, seriously.”

Those fingers paused briefly before Castiel continued. “Ask me again when you’re not half out of your mind on pain medication and I’ll consider it.”

“Mmm,” Dean hummed by way of response. “What happened?”

“You passed out, just like Gabriel thought you would. The strain was too much for you. Fortunately you didn’t wake up when you changed back, as the process seemed to be equally painful.”

“I feel like I got run over by a truck.”

“In a way, you were. You’re not in peak condition as it is, and what Gabriel gave you probably didn’t help. It was a fast acting sedative. Human and animal medication can be dangerous for us and the dose was pretty strong, but you were hyperventilating. We had to calm you down.” His fingers trailed lightly down Dean’s spine, eliciting a shiver, and Dean remembered with a flush of mortification that he was still naked.

“Uh, I feel better. You can stop,” he said. Much as he hated to give up the awesome pressure of Castiel’s hands, now that he was a little more aware something was going to start happening if he didn’t. Considering that he wasn’t even sure they were technically dating yet and Castiel had talked a lot about taking things slow, he didn’t think that reaction would be overly welcome.

Castiel looked like he was trying not to smile, but he obliged. He pulled the sheet back up over Dean’s ass, letting it drop at the hollow of his back. “How was your first night as a wolf, then? No desire to kill someone?”

“No,” Dean said slowly. His memories were kind of disjointed, blurred by pain and lethargy. But what he remembered the most was just wanting to be close to Castiel – and to a lesser extent, Gabriel. And not in the ‘wanting to kill you way’, more in the ‘please don't leave me alone' way.

“You didn’t try to hurt us. Or kill anyone.”

“That’s not to say I wouldn’t,” Dean mumbled, but the words sounded empty even to him. 

“Dean, you’re not that kind of person. You’re not a monster. You know that. Your father was wrong. I wish you could believe me when I say that."

Dean’s throat hurt. All those years, having his dad tell him that he was a monster… he still wasn’t entirely sure he believed that he wasn’t, but right now the evidence seemed irrefutable. And now he’d have to wonder for the rest of his life if John had known that from the start, or if his dad had really, truly believed that Dean would kill someone without the collar and cuffs. 

“Will it always hurt that way?” he asked, clearing his throat.

“No. With time, your body will become more adapted to the change. It will happen faster, you won’t feel as out of sorts beforehand and it won’t cause you as much pain during or after. With practice, you’ll develop a level of control over it. Last month I didn't change at all so I could stay with you. And I don’t know if you remember, but last night I didn’t turn until I was sure that you were okay.”

“I don’t remember,” Dean admitted, though he wished he did. He had a vague memory of curling into a large black wolf, but that was about it. 

He closed his eyes, feeling completely wrung out, and felt the bed shift as Castiel stretched out beside him and wrapped an arm across his chest. “You’re not a monster, Dean,” he whispered. “There’s nothing wrong with you, and I won’t give up until you can see that about yourself.”

“Good luck,” Dean muttered, though there may have been a little more amusement in that than he wanted. He didn’t exactly know how to feel about the fact that Castiel wanted to _try_.

“I’m stubborn,” Castiel said, which was about the biggest understatement ever, and leaned closer to nuzzle Dean in a gesture reminiscent of last night. “And I know you’re worth it.”

**Six months later**

Dean was bent over a gorgeous Porsche when a hand came down on his backside. The light pressure slipped down, grabbing a good handful, and he jumped, hitting his head on the roof. Castiel laughed and Dean swore, swatting his hand away as he leaned back and straightened up. He glared, gingerly massaging the lump on the back of his head. It would be gone in no time, of course, but that wasn’t the point. 

“Pervert,” he accused.

“Only for you,” Castiel said, and somehow when Dean wasn’t looking he’d perfected a leer that brought heat rushing to Dean’s face. 

“You’ve been hanging around Gabriel and Jess _way_ too much.”

Castiel shrugged, unconcerned, and stepped aside as Dean gently put the trunk down. The car would need another few hours of work before it was road ready, but if Castiel was there that meant it was time to head home. He wiped a hand across his forehead and felt good knowing that just a couple months ago, he never would’ve been able to stand and work for this long. 

“I spoke to Sam," Castiel said as Dean grabbed a rag and wiped his hands.

“Oh yeah?”

“He and Jess agreed to be here for the next full moon.”

Dean froze. Moons were a little better now. He was actually conscious for most of the night instead of passed out with Castiel watching over him. They still hurt like a bitch, but it was a manageable ache for the most part. Last time, they’d even left the apartment for the first time - just for a few minutes, but it was still amazing. For the most part, he had gotten over – or at least come to terms with - the idea that he might kill someone.

But _Sammy_ …

“If you’re not ready, you can change your mind.” Castiel’s hand ghosted across the back of his neck, settling and squeezing, comforting as Dean leaned automatically into it. He closed his eyes briefly before shaking his head.

“No, it’s okay. I want them to come.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” Dean wasn’t sure, not at all, but even though Sam hadn’t pushed him he knew his brother wanted them to spend the moon together. They were family – pack, even, as Sam liked to call it, as cheesy as that was – and Dean had to admit he was curious to know what it would be like. Even if it did terrify him a little.

Castiel’s hand squeezed a little harder before he let go. “Come on. Get your things cleaned up and we’ll go.”

It didn’t take him long to get his workstation looking half-decent. Castiel was waiting for him in the Impala, and Dean slid behind the driver’s seat with a sigh of relief. He frowned as he noticed a splotch of dark red on the seat between them. He didn’t have to wonder how it’d got there. Ghosts could be mean sons of bitches when they wanted. But he could’ve sworn he’d cleaned up every last drop.

“I’m gonna have to clean Baby again this weekend,” he muttered, scowling at the splotch like strength of will alone could cause it to evaporate.

“I thought you wanted to go on another hunt?”

He shrugged, avoiding Castiel’s eyes. At first it seemed like the perfect balance. Normal life during the week and then hunting on the weekends. Castiel was pretty decent as a partner, already skilled with knives and getting better with a gun. Even Gabriel had joined them a handful of times. Dean had let go of the thought of hunting down Benny, not that he’d ever taken it very seriously in the first place, because he could attest to the fact that vengeance wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

More and more Dean was noticing that hunting wasn’t, either: he didn’t look forward to the hunt as much as he looked forward to returning _home_.

“Dean?”

“I dunno, Cas.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes a little, staring at him intently. “You don’t enjoy hunting anymore?”

“I don’t know,” Dean repeated, maybe a bit too annoyed, and sighed. “It just… every time I gank something I end up thinking about John.”

“Dean…”

“And I know that shouldn’t bother me, but it does. I hate thinking about him.” He didn’t even like talking about their father with Sam, which was something his brother hadn’t understood until Dean told him – just a little – about how he’d grown up. He wasn't ready to talk about most of it, but even just mentioning the silver collar and cuffs had done the job. Sam’s face had turned an alarming shade of red, and after that he didn’t want to talk about John anymore either. And that suited Dean just fine.

“Maybe we should take a break,” Castiel suggested.

“What do you mean?”

“A vacation. From hunting, I mean. Instead of spending our weekends driving to a hunt, we could go somewhere else. Sightseeing. Or anything you want. Maybe we could even fly up to see Sam and Jess.”

“Yeah?” Dean brightened a little at that. Sam and Jess flew down fairly regularly, but sometimes it still felt like too much time passed between visits. He hated the thought of getting on a plane, but if it meant that he could see where they lived and went to school…

“Of course.” Castiel was smiling now, looking entirely too pleased with himself. Dean pretended not to notice as he started the car up and drove out of the parking lot.

Gabriel was gone when they got home, not that Dean was surprised. He’d been crashing at his girlfriend’s house more and more lately, and according to Castiel this time the two of them might actually make it all the way down the aisle – provided Gabriel didn’t say something to provoke Kali’s infamous temper first. If/when they finally got married, it meant Gabriel would be moving out. He glanced around the apartment thoughtfully, wondering if he and Castiel would stay here or if they’d move, too.

He liked the apartment, but there was something appealing about a place that was just for the two of them.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he said as Castiel came in behind him.

“I’ll call for takeout, then, unless you feel like cooking?”

“Pizza’s fine. But…”

Castiel picked up the phone and turned to him, waiting. “What?”

“You could call later,” Dean said awkwardly. “If you… you know… wanted to shower with me.” His stomach tightened with nerves as Castiel’s blue eyes went wide with surprise. They hadn’t moved any further than kissing and groping, and he was starting to think they were never going to. But oh god, he _wanted_ to. He wanted Castiel like he’d never wanted anyone else, felt like he hadn’t even known what wanting was until they had lain in bed together and exchanged heated kisses for hours.

“Are you sure?” Castiel said, recovering after what felt like an age. 

“I want to have sex with you, Cas. What’s not to be sure about?” Dean snapped, embarrassed. He thought for certain that Castiel was going to come back with a sarcastic comment that might just evolve into an argument, but instead Castiel stopped. He shook his head and put the phone back.

“Let’s go then,” he said, eyes dropping to scan Dean up and down. “I can’t wait to know what you feel like on the inside.”

Dean choked at the lurid images that his mind happily provided for him when he heard that. None of it was new, had been spank fodder for weeks now, but with Castiel’s blue eyes staring him down it was a thousand times hotter. “W-what – Cas! You can’t just say something like that.”

“Go ahead, Dean. Get undressed. I'll be right behind you.” He was smirking, the bastard, and Dean glared at him before he left the kitchen in a huff. Just for that, he left his clothing in a trail behind him to the bathroom. By the time his toes touched the cold tiles, he was completely naked and shivering.

He slowly bent down, reaching for the faucet and switching the water on. He was given very little warning before hands seized his hips, yanking him back against a cloth covered bulge. Dean caught his breath and made himself focus on turning the water to warm, fascinated by the sensation of denim rubbing against his ass. When Castiel’s fingers tightened a little and pulled him backwards, parting his cheeks and grinding against his hole, he moaned.

“Cas, come on. I’m not gonna be the only one naked here.”

Castiel chuckled, a deep throaty sound that made Dean’s heart pound twice as hard, and released him. Dean straightened up and twisted, watching as Castiel grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head. He didn’t tease, but he didn’t rush either, letting his jeans fall and then hooking his thumbs into his boxers to pull them down. Naked, he looked a little like something out of Dean’s dreams from when he was a stupid kid: tanned flesh over wiry muscles.

The rush of arousal wasn’t unexpected, but it was a lot stronger than Dean had figured. He licked his lips and maintained eye contact as he pulled the curtain back, stepping over the lip of the tub. The heated water struck his back when he moved to make enough room for Castiel, and he couldn’t resist tipping his head back. It felt heavenly after a long day of being bent over cars. 

He heard a muffled thud and quickly looked forward only to see that Castiel was gone. Then he felt the tongue touching his thigh, licking its way up to his hip, and he dropped his eyes. Speechless, he watched as Castiel proceeded to lick and nip at every inch of his thighs and belly. Never once did he touch Dean’s straining dick, though he did dip low enough to suck Dean’s balls into his mouth.

Shocked, Dean burst out, “Cas! Oh my guuuh…” He trailed off, his legs weakening, and allowed Castiel to gently guide him back against the wall. It was a little cool to the touch in spite of the steam and Dean shivered again, in part because of the chill but mostly from pleasure. His head was spinning, and when Castiel pushed at his thighs he spread them hesitantly.

With more freedom of movement, Castiel shifted closer. He was so, so careful, keeping his teeth far away from Dean’s balls as he ran his tongue over the flesh. Slowly he pulled back, though he didn’t go far. He licked a solid stripe right up the bottom of Dean’s dick, from root to the head, lingering a little to work his tongue right into the slit.

Dean yelped. “Cas!”

“It’s okay, Dean,” Castiel said, and Dean had lost count of how often he had heard those words, but it never ceased to be comforting. “You’re not going to hurt anyone if you lose control. Let me show you that sex can be more than just a business transaction. Let me do this for you. I want to.”

Unable to speak, Dean just nodded. The warm smile he was rewarded with made him feel funny, like he was the one who deserved praise here and not Castiel. He watched, unable to look away, as Castiel braced an arm across his hips and then wrapped his free hand around Dean’s dick. His hands were smooth, but with callouses on his fingertips, and Dean whimpered at even that exquisite pressure where he needed it most.

“More,” he pleaded, when it became evident that Castiel was going to do no more. His hands fisted at his sides. “Please... Cas, I need more.”

Later, Dean would be relieved that Gabriel wasn’t home because if he was, he would’ve surely heard the cry that Dean let out when Castiel first took him into his mouth. He’d gone down on other people before, mostly women, but there had been a few men here and there. So while he was familiar with the act of giving, receiving was a mystery even though there had been offers. He’d never dared to let anyone do something so intimate, so dangerous, just because it would’ve been too easy to hurt them. 

A normal human could’ve never held him down when his hips bucked instinctively, but Castiel pinned him with ease. Dean whimpered and struggled purely for that reason, tingles shooting through him every time he failed to move even an inch, awash with the knowledge that he couldn’t hurt Castiel even if he tried. It was a heady feeling. Never before had he experienced sex with someone who was his equal, maybe even a little bit stronger than he was.

Castiel’s mouth was so warm, bordering on hot, and so _wet_ , and he could feel himself rushing towards orgasm. It was like being swept away by a strong current and his body couldn’t seem to decide whether it wanted more or whether it was too much. He was moaning non-stop now, Castiel’s name tumbling from his lips, begging and pleading as he threw his head back.

Evidently deciding he was done with teasing, Castiel’s grip on his cock became more firm. He began to pump Dean quickly, his lips still sealed around the head. It only took a few more swipes of that tongue before Dean jolted hard, gasping out breathless whimpers as he shuddered through his orgasm. Castiel gentled him through it, stroking him lightly, as he swallowed all of Dean’s come. And only once he was done did Castiel stand up and pull him into a kiss.

He tasted like come, of course, not that Dean minded. The blurred edges of pleasure had dulled him to the point where he could only hum contentedly and kiss back. Castiel’s arms wrapped around his waist and he rocked against Dean’s hip. At the reminder, Dean broke the kiss and turned around. He planted his hands against the wall and canted his hips in invitation, spreading his legs.

“I want you to come on me,” he said a little shyly, not daring to look back.

It was probably for the best, because he wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to bear the look on Castiel’s face in combination with a feral growl that made Dean’s knees weak. In seconds Castiel was pressed firmly against him from chest to groin and rutting desperately, the slippery head of his cock catching against Dean’s rim as it slid up and down his crack. Both men moaned at the sensation. 

“Dean,” Castiel whined, and if Dean hadn’t come not two minutes before the sound of his name in that pleasure soaked tone would’ve done it.

“M’here, Cas,” he breathed.

Castiel groaned deep in his chest and thrust against him one last time. Come splattered across Dean’s buttocks and lower back, only to be swiftly washed away by the water. A moment later Castiel collapsed against him, breathing heavily. Dean rested his forehead against the wall and smiled foolishly, waiting for his heart to stop beating so hard that it felt like it was going to jump right out of his chest.

“Fuck, what you do to me,” Castiel rasped finally.

“Me? I thought you were gonna suck my brain out my dick.”

He felt the chuckle against his back. “I love you, Dean.”

Dean swallowed, blushing even though he shouldn’t have been surprised. It wasn’t unexpected, not really. And yet he felt dizzy with the emotions surging through him. He turned around and kissed Castiel hard, letting his whispered response be smothered by the meeting of their lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Come see me on [tumblr](http://tsuki-chibi.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
